


My True Love Gave to Me

by TheGirlWhoRemembers



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Not Secret Agents/Spies, Cameos, Christmas Carols, Dad Jack, Domestic MacGyverisms, Dorks in Love, Ellen MacGyver is Alive, F/M, Family, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gen, Humour, Mac has a Plan, Mac is a Stupid Genius, Mac's Love Language is DIY, Neighbours, Nerds in Love, OTT Romantic Gesture, Old Married Couple, Rom-Com Tropes, Rom-com, Romance, Second Chances, Slow Build, Team as Family, Tropes, for once, lots and lots of cameos, macgyverisms, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-17 18:11:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 30,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16979388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGirlWhoRemembers/pseuds/TheGirlWhoRemembers
Summary: JPL engineer Mac attempts to woo his neighbour by doing the12 Days of Christmas, MacGyver-style.Meanwhile, Jack and Diane discuss all the reasons why they shouldn’t get back together, Riley tries to cheer up Bozer so this Christmas doesn’t wind upLast Christmas, and James MacGyver must find his way back to Mission City and his wife Ellen.





	1. A Partridge Scarecrow for Your Pear Tree

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my 2018 Christmas fic! Here be fluffy romance and friendship, an AU where everyone is happy and not much hurts, and a story in which Mac actually has a detailed plan. 
> 
> This is a touch early, as I’m going on a roadtrip with my family for the next couple of days, and thus might not have internet access reliable enough to post this.
> 
> I will, however, try and get a chapter up every single day until Christmas! 
> 
> This is mostly a Mac/Beth fic (and works as an introduction to her if you haven’t read my other fics in which she appears), with some James MacGyver/Ellen MacGyver, some Jack/Diane and a touch of Riley/Bozer, as well as a surprise (sort-of) and some background ships featured in my other fics. 
> 
> Title comes from the Christmas carol _The 12 Days of Christmas_.

**DECEMBER 14 th **

**MACGYVER’S RESIDENCE**

**PASADENA**

* * *

Angus MacGyver, twenty-eight year old JPL engineer, put his Swiss Army knife away as he finished curling the ribbon on the present sitting on his desk (it was wrapped in cheery Christmas paper, of course – this paper had a pattern of cute reindeer on it).

He picked it up very carefully and examined it closely for imperfections, before setting it down again and grabbing his favourite brown leather jacket from where it was hanging over the back of his desk chair and shrugging it on.

(There was no _need_ for him to put it on, not really.)

(It might be December, but he _did_ live in sunny LA.)

(Besides, he was just going next door.)

(But Bozer said that the leather jacket was his ‘signature piece’ and that he looked really good in it, so…)

(His grandfather had always said that a gentleman should dress as the best version of himself to impress a lady.)

Mac shook his head a little as he picked up the present and left his bedroom.

He was even more nervous than he had been when he’d lost that bet to Bozer and had to ask Darlene Martin to Prom.

Which was ridiculous, because he definitely wasn’t fourteen anymore, and the intended recipient of this gift had pretty much nothing in common with Darlene Martin, aside from being female and very, very pretty.

(Darlene – the prettiest girl, and one of the most popular, at Mission City High – had only been nice to him so that he’d do all the work in chem class, as well as all of her homework.)

(It was kind of embarrassing, actually, how easily fourteen-year-old him had been fooled by a pretty face and pretty, well, other things.)

(He was pretty sure that this gift’s intended recipient would actually like him _less_ if he wasn’t weird and nerdy and didn’t have algorithms for nearly everything and a mathematical proof for the plausibility of the existence of Santa Claus.)

His BFF/roommate/tenant, Wilt Bozer, FBI forensic accountant extraordinaire, waved sleepily at him from the kitchen, still in his pyjamas.

(It was 7:30 in the morning.)

‘Morning, bro…’ Bozer noticed the gift in Mac’s hands, and instantly, he was an awful lot more awake. Mac groaned internally. Bozer was family, and like any family, he was far too interested in Mac’s business, especially his love life. ‘That for The Doc Next Door?’

(Riley Davis – Mac’s JPL co-worker, though she was in software and he was in hardware, and another member of the family – had disapproved strongly of Bozer’s original nickname for his and Mac’s next-door neighbour, The _Girl_ Next Door.)

(‘She’s a grown woman with a medical degree, Bozer!’)

Mac nodded. His ears were definitely turning pink under his hair.

‘Uh, yeah.’

Bozer smirked, before making a face of confusion.

‘It’s December 14th, we’ve still got twelve days ‘till Christmas…’ He actually looked a little panicked. ‘Has she changed her plans for Christmas? Is that why you’re giving her her gift early?’

(Bozer took Christmas – more accurately, Christmas dinner – very, very seriously, so any kind of disruption to his careful plans elicited panic.)

Mac shook his head, raising his free hand reassuringly.

‘No, she’ll be at the Christmas party, Boze.’ He paused, looking a bit sheepish. He was well-aware that he was really going overboard, but… ‘This is, uh, just her first Christmas present...you know, twelve days of Christmas? Not that today is _actually_ the first day of Christmas, but for my purposes…never mind.’ He trailed off. He was well-aware that he could be annoyingly pedantic at times. ‘I have a plan.’

_Despite common preconceptions, the twelve days of Christmas actually start on Christmas Day, not end._

_But for my purposes, starting on December 14 th, the first day of the not-actually twelve days of Christmas, works better._

Bozer, meanwhile, looked sceptically at his best friend.

‘ _You_ have a plan. A _detailed_ plan consisting of twelve different Christmas presents that I guess you’ve already made?’ Bozer sighed exasperatedly and muttered something about trying so hard to raise them right. ‘And that involves _finally_ asking her out on the twelfth day?’

(In Bozer’s opinion, Mac should have asked The Doc Next Door out _months_ ago.)

(It was an opinion shared by the rest of the family.)

(He didn’t even have the excuse of lacking in opportunity, since she lived next door.)

Mac just nodded a little sheepishly.

_I will be the first to admit that I am not good with plans._

_I’m really more of an on-the-fly kind of guy._

_But that doesn’t mean that I’m not capable of one from time to time, especially given the right incentive…_

Bozer smirked.

‘She’s rubbing off on you!’

_She likes plans._

_And to-do lists._

_And is a firm believer in fully utilizing day planners, organization and being prepared in general._

_Apart from the obvious, she would have made a much better Boy Scout than me._

* * *

Mac walked out of his front door, up the front path, and then a few feet along the sidewalk to the next front path, and walked down that.

(He and Bozer lived in a townhouse at the end of a row.)

_Seriously, MacGyver, get a grip._

_You are a grown man._

_You disarmed bombs for the Army for eight years, including five years as a member of Delta Force._

_You’re as certain as can be about something like this that she does really, really like you too._

Mac raised a hand and knocked on his neighbour’s front door.

The door opened to reveal The Doc Next Door, Dr Beth Taylor, a pretty, sweet-faced brunette woman who looked to be in her early-mid-twenties (though Mac knew she was older, also being twenty-eight). Her hair was already pulled and pinned back into a neat ponytail and she was already wearing her scrubs.

(She was an attending ER physician at Huntington Hospital nearby, and her shift started in an hour.)

Beth smiled up at him.

‘Good morning, Mac.’ She took in the Christmas present he was holding, and her head tilted to the left, brow furrowing. ‘Have you decided to go on a last-minute Christmas vacation?’

He shook his head immediately.

‘No, uh…’ This was hard to explain. He was probably being awkward. Maybe he should have thought it out better. ‘…um, just open it, please?’

Now looking very curious and a little less confused (he had a feeling that she might have an inkling as to what was going on – or even more than an inkling), Beth took the gift from his hands and methodically began to unwrap it, undoing the bow, before carefully peeling off each piece of sticky-tape and removing the paper.

(He couldn’t help but smile a little wider, fond and amused.)

( _Of course_ she was one of _those_ present unwrappers.)

She then opened the cardboard box that was inside, to reveal the carefully-packed mechanical partridge inside.

‘Oh…’ It was very much a noise of realization. She glanced over at him, smile widening, cheeks pinking adorably. ‘You’re starting the twelve days of Christmas twelve days early?’

He nodded.

‘Uh, yeah.’ He gestured at the mechanical partridge that he’d carefully constructed using bits and bobs he’d had in his stash of what everyone else called junk that filled the garage and attic. ‘It’s for your pear tree, to scare off real birds when it finally bears fruit.’

He put his fingers in his mouth and let out a few bird-call-like whistles.

The mechanical partridge burst into life in Beth’s cupped hands, several LEDs lighting up and the wings flapping madly.

It made her whole expression shift into one of almost childlike wonder, and she gave a little laugh and glanced up at him again when the bird stilled, looking _very_ impressed.

Her cheeks were very pink, too.

He smiled back, the expression on his face part-smug-smirk, part-shy-smile and part-besotted-grin.

_I admit that the classic Christmas carol influenced my choice of bird, but I’m not just blindly following the song, I promise._

_What in the world would Beth do with leaping lords or a dozen drummers?_

_Besides, romance is not one-size-fits-all. It requires customization, since it’s all about showing the other person that you’re thinking of them and that you care enough to know and remember and consider things both big and small about them._

_For example, my mom’s favourite perfume is a vanilla scent that came from this little perfumer in Paris that my parents stumbled upon on their honeymoon._

_Dad bought it for her every anniversary._

_Fifteen years ago, they stopped making it, so Dad analysed it by gas chromatography-mass spectrometry and worked out how to make it himself so he could still give her a bottle every anniversary._

_Mom says that that’s the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for her._

_So, yes, there’s a story here._

* * *

**ELEVEN MONTHS AGO**

* * *

As he started to bounce up and down on his back deck on a brand-new pogo stick (it’d still been in the box) that he’d picked up for a steal from a garage sale down the block, Mac glanced into his neighbour’s backyard.

(The fence was only about four and a half feet tall in the deck areas; it did, however, reach six feet between the lawn areas.)

For the first time in three weeks, the yard wasn’t empty.

(His previous neighbour, retired CalTech Physics professor Alexander Oorlov – who loved to bicker with his best friend Victor Levkin, enjoyed hearing about Mac’s various experiments and work and loved _The Price is Right_ – had recently moved into a nursing home.)

Instead, there was a petite woman with light-brown hair wearing jeans and a striped long-sleeved T-shirt crouching by the flowerbed on the far side.

She had a pot of purple-blue water in a saucepan next to her, with pieces of red cabbage in it. As Mac watched, bouncing all the while, she ladled some of the water into a jar, then added some soil.

He was so surprised that he wound up speaking without thinking.

‘Are you testing the soil pH using red cabbage?’

The woman whipped around, startled, but her hands remained steady and she didn’t drop the jar, or the chopstick she was using to stir its contents.

She was young, probably a couple of years younger than him, and very, very pretty.

She also didn’t seem to think he was rude or crazy, and just nodded, as if this was a normal conversation to be having with your neighbour, like a chat about the weather.

‘Yes, I need to ensure the soil is acidic, for the pear tree my parents gave me.’ She gestured at the sapling in a pot sitting on the deck. It had a blue bow tied around the trunk and there was a cardboard pear-shaped label attached to it. ‘I don’t own a pH meter or pH paper, and they’re expensive and not the easiest to obtain, so I improvised.’ That made him smile a lot wider than it probably should have. She tilted her head to the left. ‘Why are you jumping on your deck on a pogo stick?’

She sounded and looked a little bemused, but not judgemental. In fact, she sounded rather curious, like she couldn’t come up with a good reason for a grown man to be jumping around on a pogo stick, but really, really wanted to hear the good reason.

That was surprising.

(Though maybe it shouldn’t have been, considering how she’d responded to his question.)

A lot of people thought he was completely crazy.

(Even Bozer, Riley and Jack, who were family, even though they weren’t blood-related, generally responded to his weekend or after-work experiments with affectionate tolerance and a lack of interest in the details. They thought he was crazy too, but they loved him, crazy and all, and made an effort to show it by doing things like buying him garage sale junk or paperclips or duct-tape or gift cards to appliances stores for his birthday and Christmas.)

Not many people were actually interested in the nitty-gritty science.

His parents were, of course (his dad was a workaholic DARPA engineer, his mom a dedicated and passionate high-school science teacher – it wasn’t exactly _surprising_ that he’d turned out the way he was). A good number of his co-workers at JPL were too, as were Frankie, Smitty and the rest of his MIT buddies. Mr Ericson, his mom’s colleague who’d taught Mac in the 8th grade, and Valerie Lawson, one of his students who was every bit as brilliant as Mac was at that age, were always into the scientific details too.

And maybe, a little voice in his head said, your beautiful new neighbour.

(Mac told it to shut up.)

‘I’m, uh, doing some experiments on the changes in the spring constant of a pogo stick spring with wear and tear, so I need to create some wear and tear, so…’

(He had no idea what the potential applications for the information were, but it might come in handy one day.)

(Besides, he just liked knowing things.)

He gestured with his head downwards, towards where he was still bouncing up and down on his pogo stick.

He hadn’t realized that he was still jumping, and realized in the same moment that it was probably awkward, rude and weird, so stopped, balancing on the stick and leaning against the fence instead.

His new neighbour tilted her head to the left a little again, still looking very curious.

‘Interesting.’ She sounded like she definitely meant it. ‘What have you found? Are the changes linear? Or exponential?’

The little voice in his head got louder as it pointed out, _yup, she’s definitely into the nitty-gritty science._

* * *

Ten minutes, one diagram and three equations passed over the fence, and a slight detour of the conversation into the elasticity of his deck later, Mac realized that he had absolutely no idea what his new neighbour’s name was.

They’d apparently gotten so caught up in the science, they’d forgotten about manners.

(It was a bad habit of his. He was trying to work on it. He didn’t think it was going very well.)

Now, how was he going to rectify the situation?

‘…there’s a story behind that variation in elasticity that’s going to oblige me to be professionally concerned about your wellbeing, isn’t there?’ He looked a bit confused, and she looked sheepish and somewhat awkwardly raised a shoulder in a way that seemed apologetic. ‘I’m a doctor. Attending ER physician at Huntington, to be precise.’ Even if she was a couple of years older than she looked, that was very young to be an attending physician already, though he admitted that given their conversation, he wasn’t terribly surprised. _He_ was young to have graduated from MIT (his mom had strongly encouraged him to take college classes when he was still in high school, including during the summer, partly to combat his boredom, which had been empirically shown to have unfortunate consequences, such as the loss of Mission City High’s football stadium, so he’d graduated in only two years) and served in the military for eight years, then worked at JPL for one and a half. He’d been young for being in Delta Force and was one of the youngest engineers at JPL. Birds of a feather recognized one another. His new neighbour stood up on her toes so that she could raise a hand over the fence to shake his. It was an awkward motion, since she couldn’t have been taller than 5’2’’. ‘Beth Taylor, I’m moving in tomorrow.’ She paused, smile turning more sheepish. ‘I think I should have mentioned that earlier…’

He smiled sheepishly back at her as he shook her hand.

‘Angus MacGyver, JPL engineer.’ An _ah_ look crossed her face; he suspected that she’d treated a co-worker or two of his for a weekend experiment gone awry. ‘ _Please_ call me Mac. Welcome to the neighbourhood.’ He paused, expression turning a touch more sheepish. ‘I should also have mentioned that earlier.’ His smile turned more wry, and he lifted a shoulder. ‘I won’t tell if you don’t?’

That made her giggle, and she nodded, smile widening.

‘Thanks.’

* * *

**THE PRESENT**

* * *

Mac and Beth finished attaching the partridge-scarecrow to her pear tree, and she looked up apologetically at him as they headed back inside.

(They both had to get ready to leave for work.)

‘I only got you the _one_ Christmas present, I’m afraid…’

He just smiled back at her, pausing in his steps and looking her in the eye.

‘A, it’s a _gift_ , not an exchange.’ His voice softened a little, even as something a bit more intense appeared in his eyes. ‘B, you’ve already given me plenty.’ After a very brief moment of the two of them staring at each other, something a little _weighty_ there, his smile turned more wry, joking. ‘I’m pretty sure I owe you a few.’

She gave a snort of laughter, then poked him in the bicep firmly.

‘It’s not about keeping score; we should stop.’ She paused and amended the statement. ‘Well, stop letting the score influence our actions.’

With a memory and a brain like his, _not_ keeping score was near-impossible.

It was surely the same for her.

Still, it was a good principle.

‘Deal.’

* * *

Meanwhile, as he dug into his breakfast of Honey Nut Cheerios, Bozer texted a couple of very interested parties a report of what he’d seen that morning.

The very interested parties were Jack Dalton (ex-CIA, former Delta Force, now a mechanic and Mac’s other BFF, second dad and Obi-Wan Kenobi to his Luke Skywalker – they’d met in Afghanistan, become close friends after a rocky start and had wound up on a Delta Force team together for five years) and Riley Davis (Mac’s co-worker who, in a coincidence that even Mac thought was highly improbable, was also Jack’s ex-girlfriend’s daughter – stuff had been rocky between Riley and Jack for a while, since he’d walked out on her and her mom after beating up her dad for throwing Diane Davis around, but things were all good now).

(Bozer was also glad that things were all good between him and Riley now, after his embarrassing and honestly kinda jerky treatment of her at first – ‘hello, future girlfriend’ was a terrible thing to say to a woman on meeting her for the first time. Jack had given him a much-needed kick up the ass, the lesson reinforced by several others, and he and Riley had become friends. Real friends.)

(Which was great, because Riley Davis was an awesome person.)

(She was strong and brave and had a really, really good heart hidden under layers of sass and sarcasm. Riley loved the people she considered family fiercely, and would do anything to protect them. She’d gone to jail for her mom, and survived things that Bozer was pretty sure would have broken him. And she had great fashion sense, unlike a couple of vets Bozer knew, was really good at video games, and had excellent taste in burgers.)

He got two replies almost immediately.

**FINALLY.**

The other one was just a string of emojis expressing the same sentiment.

(Jack liked emojis too much.)

Bozer, however, couldn’t exactly blame him for the excitement.

They’d all reached the point where they were all seriously planning an intervention.

(Which was tricky, since locking them in a room or an elevator or something wasn’t going to work, because Mac could escape from anything in minutes.)

Mac and Beth should have reached their first date _months_ ago.

But, this was what happened when you had a pair of somewhat socially awkward former child prodigies with lingering self-esteem issues and a depressing romantic history (on Mac’s side, anyway) who were hence too scared to rock the boat a little and make the first move.

(Even though at this point, it’d be hardly any boat rocking and only the good kind, Bozer thought.)

Jack’s emoji chain was soon followed by another message.

**Wait, did you say he’s got a plan?**

More emojis, now with a panicked flavour.

**We sure this is a good thing?**

Even more panicked emojis.

**You know our boy and plans don’t go well together!**


	2. Two Modified Toasters

**DECEMBER 15 th**

**MACGYVER’S RESIDENCE**

**PASADENA**

* * *

In the early evening, Mac tucked a wrapped Christmas present under each arm and walked out of his bedroom, through his house and out the front door, this time, thankfully without running into his roommate.

(He may or may not have taken into account the fact that Bozer was out working on one of his movies – Bozer pursued his filmmaker dreams in his free time, and was currently working on a new project starring their childhood friend, kids’ drama teacher and wannabe actress Penny Parker.)

(He loved Bozer dearly, he really, really did, and he understood that Bozer’s heart was in the right place, but sometimes, his best friend had a little trouble with boundaries. Especially when it came to Mac’s love life.)

(He was still as sure as he could be about this sort of stuff that Bozer covering the house with rose petals and candles and making duck l’orange when he’d had a third date with Cindy – cut short as he’d been urgently deployed to Costa Rica – would have hindered his romance game, not upped it.)

(Besides, Beth had had the early-morning shift – as in 6 am – that morning, and he wanted to give her time to shower, nap and get some rest without interruption.)

He walked over to her door and shifted his packages around a little so he could knock.

She opened it with a grin, and he grinned back.

‘Hi.’

_I am not smooth, never will be and have never claimed to be._

Beth’s grin widened a little, and she stepped aside and gestured for him to come in.

‘Hi, Mac.’

_But between you and me?_

_I don’t think she minds._

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Mac was sitting at Beth’s kitchen table, sipping a mug of excellent horchata.

(It was a recipe from one of her medical school friends/roommates, who was of Mexican descent and had apparently made it every holiday season.)

Meanwhile, she was opening the first of the gifts, just as carefully and methodically as she had the day before.

Wordlessly, he handed her his Swiss Army knife, already open to the scissors attachment, when she reached the cardboard box inside, which was duct-taped closed.

Beth opened the box and pulled out the toaster inside. It looked mostly like a normal toaster, though there were a couple of attachments sticking out from the top and the labels on the knobs had been changed.

She grinned like a kid on Christmas morning, set it down carefully, and clapped her hands together, spinning around excitedly to face him.

(Mac smiled – probably stupidly and besottedly, but he couldn’t really bring himself to care – into his horchata.)

‘Is that what I think it is?’

He lifted a shoulder with a little smile.

‘Probably not _exactly_.’ He put down his horchata, reached out and turned the modified toaster around slightly, gesturing to the relabelled knobs. ‘It makes French toast, grilled cheese and other toasted sandwiches.’ He gestured with his head towards the other, as-yet-unopened present with a little smirk. ‘ _That_ one makes pancakes.’

Her grin widened further.

‘You are _awesome,_ Angus MacGyver.’ As if to punctuate that, Beth leaned over to hug him. Grinning, he tucked his chin over her shoulder and hugged her back. ‘Thank you, Mac.’

He patted her back.

‘You’re welcome.’ He paused, voice growing a little sheepish. ‘Just be careful with the pancake-making one…I got it down to 15%, but I can’t get rid of it…’

* * *

**TEN MONTHS AGO**

* * *

Mac, wearing an old MIT T-shirt and basketball shorts, sweaty and pleasantly sore, jogged down his and Bozer’s tiny side-yard into the backyard to stretch after his run.

He looked up, at the still-rising sun.

(He much preferred to run in the cooler mornings for a reason, especially on sunny days like today. The beating sun overhead reminded him a little too much of the Sandbox.)

It was 6:30 am, and he’d already been up for two and a half hours. Normally, he’d only be just be lacing up his shoes for his daily run.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

After a couple of minutes of stretching, trying to focus on the motions, instead of on the images that continued to insist on running through his mind, he became aware of noise from the other side of the fence. Deep, steady breathing, to some kind of rhythm.

Brow furrowing, he peered over the fence, to find Beth on her deck on a yoga mat, on her hands and knees and arching her back like a cat. There was a set of hand weights next to her, as well as a skipping rope, and she was wearing yoga pants and a loose T-shirt. Judging by the sweat-stains on her T-shirt, she was cooling down after an intense work-out too.

She looked up at him, and sat back on her haunches, giving a little wave.

‘Good morning, Mac. You’re up early.’

She didn’t sound quite right. She looked tired and wan.

And he definitely recognized that look in her eyes.

He’d seen that thousand-yard-stare in plenty of fellow soldiers’ eyes.  Or in the eyes of civilians, caught up in some conflict or the other, from Iraq to Colombia.

And in the mirror that very morning.

So maybe that was why he answered the sort-of question in her words, _really_ answered it, despite the fact that this was one of the things that he really didn’t like talking about.

‘Yeah, had a nightmare and woke up a couple of hours ago. I couldn’t get back to sleep, so thought I’d go for a run.’ He paused. ‘You, too?’

Beth kept odd hours, because of her job.

But he really didn’t think that was the explanation today, not with that look in her eyes.

Slowly, she nodded, looking down at her hands in her lap for a beat, before looking back up at him.

‘When I finished my residency, I went to Syria with MSF. I got back last September.’ She paused, staring into the distance, into her memories for a moment before continuing, voice small and sad. ‘The thing about double-taps is that they’re not clear or predictable. There’s no set amount of time to wait or some kind of protocol or…well, sometimes they wait for hours…or they wait until the first responders or the mourners or the neighbours show up.’ She swallowed. ‘Sometimes, we couldn’t wait to help.’ Seemingly without thinking about it, she shifted and brought her knees up and wrapped her arms around her legs, which made her look very, very young. ‘There was a family living in a single room of what used to be a very expensive house. A compound, really. Mom, dad, three kids, grandma.’ She swallowed again, still lost in the past. ‘Grandma and two of the kids had died in the first strike. By the time I got there, I couldn’t do anything for Dad and the third child…but the shock had caused the mother to go into labour at 7 ½ months.’ She hadn’t been able to move the woman far; between her grief and the contractions, she couldn’t really walk, and she’d been taller and heavier than Beth. The best she’d been able to do at the time was shift them into the sturdiest-looking corner of the room and move what little furniture there was to hopefully (probably overly-optimistically) shield them. ‘…Fifteen minutes later, the second strike hit.’ She raised a hand, touching her forehead, near her hairline, unconsciously. Mac understood the gesture; there was no physical scar, as far as he could tell, but that didn’t mean there were  _no_  scars. Then, she seemed to snap out of it, looking apologetic, a little uncomfortable. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…it’s…I mean, we’re just neighbours who met a month ago…’

He cut her off, shaking his head, seeking out her eyes, his own gaze empathetic.

‘No, it’s not.’ He paused, marshalling his thoughts into order, into something that’d hopefully make sense to her. ‘In the middle of the night…I was back in Iraq. And Afghanistan. And Colombia. And Nigeria.’ He swallowed. ‘You know how they sometimes jumble together.’ And it all became flashes of violence and blood and death and guilt. She just gave a little nod. ‘I was an Army EOD for eight years, Beth. I turned civilian a year and a half ago. I get it.’

They were silent for a long, long moment, before she spoke, voice a touch hesitant.

‘You saw combat in Colombia and Nigeria?’

‘I was Delta Force for five years.’ His expression grew wry. ‘And that’s all I can tell you.’

That wasn’t _strictly_ true.

He could tell her about the Silver Star and Purple Heart sitting in a shoebox at the bottom of his closet.

But he never talked about those, just like how Worthy never talked about his Bronze Star or Thorpe never talked about his Purple Heart.

Just like how he and the whole Delta Force team affectionately nicknamed ‘Dalton’s Heroes’ by their fellow soldiers never talked about that last mission in Colombia, the one that’d left them all more scarred and more decorated, the one they’d all gotten out after.

She smiled back, also wry, in a way that reminded him of his time in the Sandbox, his time with Dalton’s Heroes.

(In a good way. There were good memories from those times too, many of them, and bonds of friendship, of brotherhood, of family, forged in those times.)

It was a finding-light-in-the-darkness smile.

(He supposed ER doctors would be just like soldiers in that regard, particularly ones who’d gone into a warzone to help people.)

‘Or then you’d have to kill me?’

‘More like I’d be jailed for violating the Espionage Act.’

She shrugged, wry smile widening.

‘Neither outcome is desirable!’

He nodded, his own wry smile broadening.

‘Agreed.’ He paused, and after a moment of hesitation and consideration, gestured with his head towards his house. ‘I’m going to make breakfast for me and Boze; would you like to join us?’

There was plenty of food in his house, and it wasn’t as if cooking for three was noticeably harder than cooking for two.

They were neighbours; being friendly with your neighbours was important, especially when one’s projects tended to overflow into one’s neighbour’s backyard.

(Even when said neighbour was a self-proclaimed fan of fine engineering.)

(She’d been very understanding about the ball-pit balls from last week.)

Besides, company after a nightmare, even if you didn’t talk about it, was always nice.

She smiled and nodded.

‘That would be great, thanks, Mac.’ The wry smile returned, and she gestured to her sweaty T-shirt. ‘Though I definitely need a shower first…’

A shower was definitely necessary for him, too.

He probably stank, and that was unacceptable.

(He chose not to analyse _why_ he thought it was so unacceptable, considering he’d probably just use some deodorant and have breakfast with Bozer first _before_ showering.)

‘Yeah, me too. See you in fifteen minutes?’

She nodded, already beginning to roll up her yoga mat and glancing at her phone, which was displaying the time.

‘I’ll be at your front door at 6:57.’

* * *

Twenty-five minutes later, Mac ladled pancake batter into the two slots of his pancake-making toaster.

(It was a re-creation of the one he’d made in college, which had ensured that he was very, very popular among everyone in his dorm.)

He pushed down the lever, then held out a hand in warning to Beth, who was watching with great interest.

‘You might want to stand back; 20% of the time, the batter for the first batch winds up on the ceiling…’

He himself took a couple of steps back, and just in time, too, because the pancake-making toaster made a spluttering sound and launched the batter at the ceiling.

It started splattering back down again, as Beth burst into a fit of laughter.

Shaking his head, a smile on his face, Mac reached under the sink for his extendable squeegee so he could start cleaning the pancake batter off the ceiling.

Beth finally stopped laughing when he was about two-thirds of the way through cleaning the ceiling, and looking a bit apologetic, she grabbed the roll of paper towels on the bench and started wiping up the pancake batter that’d dripped back onto the counter.

‘Sorry, Mac, I think your pancake-making toaster is very cool, really, just…’

She gestured helplessly and a touch awkwardly at the ceiling above the toaster.

He just smiled back at her, waving a hand as he lowered the squeegee.

‘The first time I used it, I was standing too close and I wound up with pancake batter in my hair.’

Beth stared at him for a moment, like she was imagining that situation, and then burst into giggles again.

Mac’s smile widened.

* * *

He was in such a good mood that he was hardly annoyed by Bozer’s significant looks and waggling eyebrows over their pancakes.

* * *

**THE PRESENT**

**JAMES AND ELLEN MACGYVER’S RESIDENCE**

**MISSION CITY**

* * *

In his workshop in the garage, James MacGyver finished repairing the string of Christmas lights, rolled them back up into a neat coil, and walked outside, to where a rather tall, still-reasonably-fit-and-slim woman of about sixty with bright blue eyes and blonde hair streaked with grey was standing on a ladder hanging up more Christmas lights, humming _Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer._

(Age and motherhood and life in general had left their marks on her, but at this point, he was sure that nothing could dampen her spirit, or, in his eyes, her beauty.)

(To him, she was just as beautiful now, with greying hair and wrinkles, as she’d been on their honeymoon in Paris, all those years ago.)

(He had trouble saying things like that out-loud, or expressing them in general, but he really did _try_ , for her, and he knew that she understood.)

Jim smiled, and reached up to hand his wife Ellen the coil of Christmas lights. She smiled back at him, and he went to stand on their second ladder. She tossed him the end, and he got to work stringing up the lights that were the final touch to their Christmas lights display.

(There was everything from an inflatable Santa to wire-frame reindeer with lights wrapped around the frames to signs that said things like ‘Merry Christmas’ and ‘Stop Here, Santa!’ in the yard.)

(Some of the decorations were store-bought, accumulated over the years, but most of them were garage sale finds patched up by the MacGyvers – Jim, Ellen and Angus - or Harry Jackson, or even DIY projects of theirs.)

(There was a simple wooden sign that proclaimed ‘Rudolph Rocks!’ in slightly-wonky text that’d been one of Angus’ first projects in the workshop.)

(His son had had an odd affinity with Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer that Jim had never fully understood. Of course, Angus had been an outcast at school with very few friends among the other children because he had always been _different_ – special – but his attachment to the fictional reindeer went further than he would expect based on that.)

(Ellen thought it was adorable, and when he had asked if she got it, had just smiled at him, kissed his cheek and said that they didn’t need to understand _why,_ they just needed to understand.)

Surprisingly, perhaps, considering what he was doing, James MacGyver was actually what his son’s best friend (both of them) would call a Grinch.

He disliked Christmas in many ways.

He wasn’t religious, and while he liked the whole family-and-friends-coming-together and doing-good-deeds aspects of Christmas, he felt that the modern holiday was commercialized to all hell, was full of arbitrary and bizarre traditions, and that gift exchanges were inefficient and often dictated by social mores rather than genuine Christmas spirit.

But Ellen adored Christmas.

She loved decking their house out so brightly that the whole neighbourhood would come and marvel and encouraging all the neighbourhood kids to run around and explore the Christmas wonderland. She loved shopping for presents (or materials to make presents) for all their family and friends, carefully picking them out. She loved buying up toys (and clothes and shoes and food) for Christmas donation drives and taking angels off the wishing tree in their local shopping centre to make the wishes of children whose parents couldn’t afford it come true.

(She was like that with all holidays, but Christmas was her favourite.)

(Halloween was her second-favourite. Every year, she turned their house into a haunted house for the neighbourhood kids – with his help - and every year, she dressed up as Ms Frizzle.)

And he was her husband and tried his best to be a good one (even though sometimes, he wasn’t sure he _was_ – he was a workaholic who had frequently been described as ‘emotionally constipated’; he wasn’t all that good at dealing with and processing emotions and showing affection or doing romance, and he knew his priorities could get really messed up when he went down the rabbit hole).

And she had very good ways of persuading him.

(Ellen might be the only person in the world capable of dragging him out of the rabbit hole when he’d gotten so deep he’d lost sight of everything else.)

(She was certainly the only person capable of cajoling him into dressing up as Mr Wizard or Bill Nye for Halloween.)

(And that was only partly because of how good she looked in a planet-print dress, and the fact that she knew it and how to use it to her advantage.)

Admittedly, those weren’t even really the true reason, at least, not all of it.

Ellen loved Christmas, really, truly did, and positively embodied the spirit of the season.

It made her glow with happiness.

And so, because he loved her, he indirectly loved Christmas too.

* * *

That evening, the decorations finished, Jim and Ellen stood at the edge of their lawn, watching the lights twinkle.

She tucked her hand into his, then shifted closer to rest her head on his shoulder.

Jim smiled, soft and genuine and _loving._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> James MacGyver is nicer person and a better father in this AU because he’s not a secret agent, and because Ellen is still alive – I headcanon that she was a very positive influence on him in terms of processing, understanding and expressing his emotions properly, being more emotionally demonstrative, and sorting out his priorities. (I also headcanon that Ellen is still alive _because_ James is not a secret agent – see _The Path Not Taken._ ) I hope you guys like her characterization here – I came up with it based on questions like ‘What kind of woman would marry James?’, ‘What kind of woman would James fall in love with so deeply that her death destroyed him?’ and ‘Given James, how did Mac wind up being who he is?’ I think the end result wound up being some kind of mixture of my characterizations of Nikki, Beth, Diane and Mac, which is both weird and somewhat oedipal, but also makes sense? 
> 
> Tomorrow’s gift for Beth: Three Really Good Umbrellas.


	3. Three Really Good Umbrellas

**DECEMBER 16 th **

**MACGYVER’S RESIDENCE**

**PASADENA**

* * *

That evening, after he’d had a quick dinner for one (Bozer had gone out), Mac picked up the wrapped, somewhat-triangular bundle sitting on his desk and headed over to Beth’s place.

(She’d gotten back from work an hour ago – he’d seen her car pull up; besides, Beth’s shift schedule was on a fortnightly rotation that he’d long since memorized – so hopefully would have eaten by now.)

Her front door opened to reveal Beth, looking drained and down, wearing her pyjamas (a T-shirt with a picture of a bone on it that was captioned ‘I found this humerus’ and purple plaid flannel pants) with a navy-blue polka dot robe thrown over it.

Still, she managed a smile up at him, eyes brightening noticeably.

He had a very strong urge to just pull her close and promise to make things better, even if he had no idea how to do that.

(He could probably think of something. Eventually. He usually could.) 

‘Tough day at work?’

Beth nodded.

‘Twelve-year-old with multiple GSWs _and_ a twenty-three-year-old female with four broken ribs, a fractured radius and ulna and a broken nose courtesy of her boyfriend.’

He winced in sympathy, and put down the Christmas present and held up his arms, which made her smile. She stepped into them, and tucked her head against his chest, and he rubbed her back in a way that was hopefully soothing.

_Oxytocin makes everything better._

_No wonder it’s Beth’s favourite peptide hormone._

When they let go of each other, her smile was a little wider and steadier, and expression brighter. She gestured towards the festively-wrapped bundle that was now sitting on her front porch.

‘Did you come over to make my day better?’

He smiled back, raising a shoulder a little awkwardly.

‘I really hope so.’

* * *

Ten minutes later, they were sitting on her couch and watching a documentary about service dogs.

(Mac had insisted that she finish her dinner – which he had, despite his best intentions, apparently interrupted – so Beth was sitting on the other end of her couch, eating a single serve of lasagne out of a Tupperware container.)

When she was done, he passed her her third Christmas present and took the Tupperware container and fork, got up and walked to the kitchen, rinsed them off and put them in her dishwasher while she unwrapped it.

(That made her narrow her eyes at him and shake her head with fond exasperation, and he just shrugged innocently in response.)

As he headed back into the living room, Beth held up one of the three identical umbrellas that’d formed the bundle.

(They were collapsible umbrellas that’d been modified – he’d replaced the struts – to ensure that they would not have that annoying problem of frequently turning inside-out and would be much sturdier.)

(One was for her hospital locker, one for her home and one for her car, so she’d never be caught short.)

(Beth _really_ liked to be prepared. He was pretty sure she carried an entire first-aid kit in her purse, somehow.)

(She was _really_ good at packing.)

She glanced over at him, expression teasing.

‘We live in sunny LA, Mac!’

He gave an easy shrug, a teasing little smirk on his own face as he sat back down on the couch.

‘ _You’re_ the one who likes to be prepared…’ He held up his hands, expression growing more wry. ‘And I think I unintentionally empirically demonstrated why it is important to be prepared for substantial rain, even as denizens of sunny SoCal…’

Beth laughed and nodded in agreement.

* * *

**NINE MONTHS AGO**

* * *

In the middle of what could only be described as a freak rainstorm (highly, highly, highly improbable in sunny SoCal), Mac ran up his front path and to his front door, sopping wet. He brushed his wet hair out of his face, before reaching into his pocket for his keys…only to find that there were no keys there.

He checked the other pocket, which contained only a couple of paperclips and his Swiss Army knife, then his back pockets, which were empty.

Mentally reviewing his actions, starting from when he’d left his house a few hours ago, he groaned.

Mrs Patel, an elderly woman who lived in a single-family home down the block, had come to his door asking for help, as her grandchildren’s beloved dog Rocky had escaped her yard and run off.

(She was dog-sitting him while her son’s family was on vacation.)

Mac had, of course, dropped everything (which wasn’t much – he was tinkering around, putting the final touches on that vintage Harley-Davidson he’d bought as little more than a pile of scrap) to help find Rocky.

It turned out he’d neglected to bring his keys with him, and Bozer was out filming on-location in Malibu and wouldn’t be home for at least a couple of hours, if not longer.

(He knew his best friend, and how badly he’d wanted to get these shots, the apparent crowning glory of his latest project. Bozer would wait for the rain to end before coming home, no matter how long it took, surely.)

The rain showed no signs of abating.

In fact, it started raining harder.

Mac sighed.

He evaluated his limited options, running a hand through his soaked hair, and made a decision.

He ran up his front path, down the sidewalk a few feet, then up Beth’s front path.

* * *

Beth stared at him, sopping wet and sheepish, for about two seconds before ushering him inside.

He stood in the entryway, close to the door, very conscious of the fact that he was dripping all over her floors, which were thankfully laminate and not carpet.

‘I’m sorry, I locked myself out…’ He looked both apologetic and hopeful. ‘Can I stay here until the rain stops or Bozer gets home, please?’

Beth, who was halfway down the corridor, heading towards a hall closet, waved a hand casually.

‘Of course you can!’ Her voice grew more confused, a bit like she was thinking out-loud. ‘Wait, you _locked yourself out_ …don’t you have a spare key?’

He looked more sheepish, running a hand through his wet hair.

‘Uh, I used it for an experiment two weeks ago…it was a destructive experiment and I forgot to get a new one made?’

Beth sighed in a way that sounded exasperatedly fond, as she reached into her linen closet and pulled out a couple of fluffy towels, one big, one smaller. Then, she appeared to realize something and paused in her motions, turning back to him and looking astounded.

‘You can’t just break into your own house?’

(Bozer had gleefully told her all about Mac’s childhood and teenage adventures and mischief.)

He looked even more sheepish.

‘I modified the locks. It’d take me ages to get in.’

It’d probably take a couple of hours. He’d considered that an advantage at first, but perhaps it needed to be re-evaluated.

Or maybe he needed to make his secret escape hatch two-way (five years of being a Delta made you a little paranoid, left its scars – and a secret escape hatch was cool, admittedly).

Beth shook her head, a little smile on her face, impressed and exasperated all at once, and passed him the smaller towel, indicating his hair, before wrapping the bigger one around his shoulders and speaking.

‘Well, at least you know you won’t get robbed…’ She started walking towards her living room. ‘Come on, we need to get you warm and dry.’ Her voice grew wry. ‘I don’t want to have to treat you for hypothermia!’

A voice in Mac’s head pointed out that hypothermia treatment from her would actually be quite pleasant, since it involved removal of wet clothing and sharing body heat.

Mac told that voice, very firmly, to shut up immediately, and instead obediently sat down in the kitchen chair that Beth indicated to him.

She hurried up the stairs, going up both flights from the sound of her steps, and returned a couple of minutes later with a space heater.

He raised an eyebrow at it as she set it down in front of him and plugged it in.

‘You own a space heater?’

They did live in warm, sunny LA.

The space heater now on, Beth narrowed her eyes at him and jabbed a finger at the air in front of his chest.

‘Firstly, I grew up, attended college and medical school, _and_ completed my residency in the Mid-West.’ He shrugged as if to say, _fair enough,_ and she continued, her voice and expression more wry. ‘Secondly, I think this precise scenario demonstrates why keeping it was an excellent idea; clearly, even highly improbable weather events do occur, generating a need for it!’

He smiled back at her.

‘Thanks, Beth.’ His smile grew more sheepish. ‘And first thing tomorrow, I will have a new spare key made.’ A realization hit him. ‘Maybe two; leaving one with you is probably a good idea…’

She nodded in agreement.

‘I will keep it safe, I promise…’ Her expression grew half-teasing, half-serious. ‘…and not allow you to destroy it.’ Then, her expression shifted into something apologetic. ‘I’m afraid I don’t have any clothes that’ll fit you, I’m an only child, and nothing left behind by my ex survived the five moves I’ve made in the last two years…’ She trailed off awkwardly, and turned and hurried into her kitchen. ‘I’ll make you a cup of tea…would you like chamomile, green or English breakfast?’

* * *

**THE PRESENT**

**A BAR WITH GREAT WINGS**

**PASADENA**

* * *

Every couple of weeks, Bozer and Mac would go out for beers and wings at a local bar with their younger friends (read: not Jack). The attendees varied, but generally included the two of them, Riley, Penny, Beth (at least, in the last eight or nine months or so) and Bozer’s co-workers Samantha Cage and Jill Morgan.

(Cage was formerly of Australia’s SASR 4 Squadron and had somehow wound up at the FBI in LA via some kind of detour working with the CIA in D.C. She didn’t talk about it much at all, except to hint that she wasn’t going to give them any details. She was a behaviour/interrogation expert who could hack someone’s brains as well as Riley could hack a computer, and was the undisputed poker champion of the group.)

(Jill’s official title was forensic analyst, and she was multi-talented, being able to do everything from forensic computer analysis to microbial forensics. She’d been specially recruited by Bozer’s boss Matty straight out of college, and had once been shy and scared of everyone.)

(Emphasis on the _once._ )

Caleb and Olivia Worthy had used to come along when Mac and Worthy weren’t on rotation, but that’d stopped since they’d come home for good, since the Worthys were now parents to a two-year-old. Charlie Robinson, an old friend of Mac’s from his days as a ‘normal’ Army EOD, with whom he held some kind of record for most IEDs disarmed in a day, came along when he was in town too, but that was even rarer now that he’d changed from working for the FBI in New York to becoming an EOD instructor.

And of course, Bozer’s ex Leanna (from the FBI’s San Francisco office, who’d transferred to LA, then transferred back after her and Bozer’s break-up) and Riley’s ex Billy (a Louisiana-based bounty hunter) had come when they’d been together, but obviously didn’t anymore.

Today, however, Penny was busy doing some last-minute baking for her students’ Christmas play tomorrow night, while Beth had declined as her shift hadn’t finished until 6 pm and she wanted to get some rest.

And Bozer’s BFF had mentioned something about ‘plans’, all the while pretending to read an issue of _New Scientist_ that Bozer knew for sure he’d read before.

(They’d both known that reading back-issues of _New Scientist_ weren’t Mac’s plans for the evening, but Mac was stubborn and had a thing about keeping his private life private, which was utterly useless, since his family – both biological and not – was full of people who were far too curious about and invested in his love life.)

Bozer had kept his teasing to a minimum, partly because he wanted to be a Good Bro, and partly because he was running late.

(He’d gotten caught up in his latest movie script.)

(It was a retelling of _Frankenstein,_ in which a brilliant but lonely young mad scientist created himself the perfect girlfriend.)

(There was lots of existential angst and ethical dilemmas, but also a lot of dorky, nerdy, adorable romance.)

(Any resemblance to real persons, dead or alive, was totally coincidental.)

( _Not,_ said the imaginary Riley in Bozer’s head with a snort.)

Still, despite his best efforts to make up time, Bozer was still the last to arrive at the bar. Riley, Jill and Cage were all sitting at a table already, snacking on mozzarella sticks and nachos.

When they saw him walk in _alone_ (he and Mac always carpooled, of course), Jill’s brow furrowed in a question, while Riley smirked and Cage smiled in that almost-maddeningly knowingly enigmatic way of hers.

Bozer sat down next to Riley, who nudged the beer she’d bought for him (he’d get the next round) closer to him, as Jill spoke, absent-mindedly offering Bozer the mozzarella sticks.

‘Where’s Mac?’

Bozer smirked slowly.

‘He has plans.’

Jill looked like he’d told her that the moon was made of cheese and that his BFF could prove it, empirically.

‘Mac never has plans. He doesn’t really _do_ plans.’

Riley snorted, stealing a mozzarella stick herself.

‘He does now.’

She looked pointedly at Jill. The forensic analyst blinked at her once, then clapped her hands together gleefully.

‘Him and Beth? _Finally_?’

Bozer waggled his hand as if to say, _sort-of._ Jill looked disappointed.

Cage just smiled, knowing and reassuring, as she reached for a mozzarella stick herself.

‘Oh, he hasn’t realized how deep he’s in yet.’ She paused. ‘Neither of them have.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I tell you that there’d be lots of cameos? I haven’t counted, but I think this might new a new record for me in terms of how many ‘background/one-off’ _MacGyver_ characters appear in this fic…
> 
> Also, warning you now – there will be many, many jokes about Mac and plans. It was A, necessary so that the fact that it is a bit OOC for him to be making plans doesn’t feel unrealistic/is noted, and B, too much fun to resist!
> 
> Tomorrow’s gift for Beth: Four Custom Insulated Milkshake Glasses.


	4. Four Custom Insulated Milkshake Glasses

**DECEMBER 17 th **

**DALTON AUTO REPAIR**

**PASADENA**

* * *

‘…Alright, brother, what’s the verdict?’

Jack paced along his workshop floor to where Mac’s legs were sticking out from under the 1976 Mustang fastback sitting in the middle of the workshop.

Mac’s voice sounded out from under the car, frustrated and exasperated.

‘…I’m guessing you can’t just tell your client that he bought a lemon and that it’d be better in the long run to scrap this and buy a better car?’

(Jack had come to the same conclusion about the car, but had asked Mac to take a look to see if he could offer some suggestions on de-lemon-ifying it.)

‘Not an option, man.’ Jack shook his head. ‘Guy’s really attached to that particular make and model.’

Mac sighed and rolled out from under the car for a moment, grabbing a rag to towel off the worst of the grease from his hands.

‘Which would probably explain why he bought a lemon.’ He sighed again and his thinking face appeared, then his  _I-have-an-idea_ face, and he rolled back under the car. Jack smiled. ‘I think we can fix this…’ There were clanking sounds for a while, before Mac, a streak of grease on his chin, rolled out from under the car again. ‘Yeah, we can fix this, but it’s going to cost him.’

Jack grinned, and reached out to help Mac up, patting him on the back.

‘Knew you’d come through, brother.’ Jack waved a hand as if to say  _it doesn’t matter._ ‘And the guy can pay for it; he’s one of those investment banker types.’ Jack snorted. ‘In fact, he’ll be  _happy_  to pay for it; that’s how much he loves this car, man.’ 

* * *

An hour later, Mac was scrubbing his hands with dish soap at the sink in the corner of Jack’s workshop.

The older man, meanwhile, leaned against one of the walls nearby, smirking.

‘Got somewhere to be, brother?’ Jack waggled his eyebrows. ‘Like, back home…or next door, giving your lady doctor, what, four calling birds?’

Mac rolled his eyes and sighed in a very long-suffering fashion as he continued to scrub his hands.

(He could never manage to get all the grease out from under his nails, but he had to at least get rid of the worst of it.)

‘It’s not four calling birds; what would Beth _do_ with four calling birds?’

(He was a big fan of useful presents, which was probably something he’d inherited or learned from his dad.)

(That Dallas Cowboys snuggie he’d once gotten Jack fell in that category.)

(It was useful as it’d generated much amusement for him and the boys.)

(And he knew Jack would use it.)

Jack crossed his arms and huffed (Mac was avoiding the _real_ question, of course), before continuing, his words teasing, though his voice was softer, gentler. More paternal, perhaps.

‘You’re going real overboard for her, son.’

Mac stopped scrubbing and glanced over at Jack, voice soft and serious and heartfelt.

‘I really, really, really like her, Jack.’ He paused. ‘And she’s great… _more_ than great…and…’

He trailed off, lifting a shoulder awkwardly, but still looking at the older man.

Jack could read the look in Mac’s eyes easily enough.

(He’d seen it in them before, after all, quite a number of years ago, now.)

(He hoped that this time turned out far better than last; he’d never forgiven Nikki for what she’d done to their boy.)

_She’s amazing._

_She’s worth it._

_She deserves it._

_She might be my right one._

* * *

A few minutes later, when Mac had left, Jack headed into his office to work on the books, though his mind was elsewhere.

If there was any justice in the universe, Jack thought, Mac deserved to find the right one.

The universe had been pretty damn cruel, so far.

Darlene Martin had shot him down cold.

He and Penny were simply only friends (happily, but it was never _fun_ when a relationship didn’t work out).

He’d pined after Frankie during his MIT days, and she’d just called him ‘boy genius’.

(And Mac _still_ thought that she was out of his league, though after that hugely improbable chance encounter when they’d been transiting home from deployment via Boston, Jack was sure that _Frankie_ didn’t think that way – or, at least, wouldn’t, once she’d adjusted to the fact that boy genius was all grown up and definitely not a boy anymore.)

Allie Winthrop had used him to get an advantage at the Kormann Challenge, when Mac, newly minted Delta, had been temporarily detached to compete on the Army’s team.

(They’d run into each other again at the most recent Kormann Challenge and teamed up to stop the creator, who’d gone a bit nuts, from using Allie’s entry to attack the Pentagon. Apparently, Allie had had genuine feelings for him, but her competitive streak had gotten the better of her.)

(Mac had forgiven her, and put himself in great danger to save her life, because he hated seeing people he cared about getting hurt, but he wasn’t able to _forget,_ and had let her down as gently as he could when she’d asked him out for coffee afterwards.)

Then Nikki Carpenter, Google employee, MIT graduate, brilliant and gorgeous and confident and sexy, Mac’s first serious girlfriend, with whom he’d been with for two years and whom he’d thought was the right one, had cheated on him while he’d been deployed, lied to him about it, and them broken up with him when he’d gotten home.

There’d been a few other women that he’d gone on dates with after that (as far as Jack could remember, only one had made it to three – he only remembered that her name was Cindy because that third date had been rudely interrupted by an urgent deployment to Costa Rica), and there’d been that brief, sort-of thing with the German lady, Katarina, who’d been taken hostage on a moving train that’d just-so-happened to contain Dalton’s Heroes on leave in Germany because she was turning informant on her boss’s dirty criminal side-business.

(Dating was tricky when you were on a Special Forces squad that could be deployed on really short notice; at the time, all their teammates who’d been in long-term relationships had met their girlfriends when they’d been simple soldiers with steady, predictable deployments.)

Tragically, after that, Mac had met a glaciology PhD student online (in a debate about the age of an Arctic ice core, of all things), but before he and Zoe got to meet in person, she’d been killed in a school shooting. She’d died a hero, saving thirty-one of her students, but that’d been cold comfort to Mac, who’d mourned her and what could have been for quite some time.

And then, on their second-last mission, in Nigeria, Mac had developed feelings for a schoolteacher named Nasha from a small, isolated and rather impoverished village that their operations had been based in. It’d been a long mission, nearly two months, and Jack was sure that those feelings were requited, and that given longer, even a couple of weeks, perhaps Nasha might have made a move.

(Mac was far too honourable to start anything with her, knowing that they had no future, no matter how strong his feelings got.)

So, in Jack’s mind, the universe owed Mac (one of the very best men Jack had ever met, which given the men he had met, meant a lot) a solid.

(Several solids, actually, but that was mostly semantics.)

And it seemed that at last, the universe had delivered.

Jack had a good feeling that he and Bozer would get to give that Best Men speech one day.

* * *

**SEVEN MONTHS AGO**

**MACGYVER’S RESIDENCE**

**PASADENA**

* * *

After getting home from work a little later than usual (around 6, instead of his usual 5:30 or so – he’d gotten caught up in a project), Mac parked his Jeep in the garage, then went down his front path so he could pick up the mail.

He happened to run into Beth (not literally, thankfully) as she walked out her front door and to her car, which was parked by the curb.

He immediately lost all interest in his and Bozer’s electrical bill (bills – especially the electrical ones – had more interesting information in them than most people thought), because she looked _beautiful._

(He had always known that his next-door neighbour was a beautiful woman, but tonight, she looked like she’d stepped out of a movie.)

Beth had her hair down, with a navy-blue bow with white polka dots on it in her hair. She was wearing a navy-blue skirt that swished around her calves with a printed border of old-fashioned milkshakes at the bottom (the kind with whipped cream and a cherry on top), with a navy-blue wrap blouse with a V-neck.

She looked classy and beautiful and _adorable._

She smiled and waved at him when she reached her own mailbox, and he waved and smiled back and said the first thing that came to his mind.

‘You look _great_.’

Her smile widened.

‘Thank you!’ She gestured with her head towards her car. ‘My friends at the hospital _insisted_ I try online dating, and I met someone, so…’ She gave a half-shrug, smiling excitedly, cheeks a bit pink. ‘…we’re going on our first date.’

One corner of his brain immediately started spewing statistics regarding the success and failure rates of online dating.

The rest of Mac’s brain told that section of his brain to shut up and refused to analyse or even think about the reason why the rogue section was spewing those facts in the first place.

Outwardly, he just smiled at Beth, tucked his electrical bill back into the envelope, and waved.

‘Have fun on your date.’

She smiled back and waved too, getting into her car.

Mac reached his front door and went inside his house, pulled out his electrical bill and focused on that.

* * *

Two hours later, Mac went outside to take out his trash.

(It was his turn, and Bozer was caught up in some kind of script-writing frenzy and not particularly inclined to do chores – or, for that matter, converse – at the moment.)

At the same time, Beth’s car pulled into her driveway.

She got out, looking hurt and a little angry.

(He really didn’t like that, and really, really wanted to fix it, even if he didn’t know how he could.)

‘You okay, Beth?’

She was silent and stared at him for a moment, before she shook her head.

‘No, no I’m not.’ She paused and swallowed, and her voice sounded wounded and fairly unsure of herself when she spoke again. ‘He complained that I was much prettier and less weird on my profile.’ She paused again, voice growing noticeably angrier. ‘He tried to convince me that the Periodic Table was wrong, because lithium can’t be lighter than oxygen!’ Mac winced. That was really, really bad. Her voice faded out a bit again, and she fisted her hands in her skirt, looking down at the concrete of her driveway, sounding unsure of herself again. ‘And I don’t think he liked my milkshake skirt.’

Whoever this guy was, he clearly was several kinds of idiot.

A, he didn’t think it was actually possible for her to look prettier than she did that night.

B, Beth’s weird was really awesome.

C, hadn’t he heard of _density?_

And D, how could one _not_ like Beth’s milkshake skirt on her? It was _adorable._

Mac had the very sudden and very strong urge to go inside, grab his and Bozer’s microwave, track down this guy and his car, remove the magnetron, make a couple of modifications, and hit the popcorn button to focus the magnetron’s energy on the guy’s car’s engine.

_Let’s just say…I’d be doing a lot more than warming it up like last night’s leftovers._

He pushed it away firmly (it was illegal, overstepping boundaries a la Jack, and Boze got really annoyed when Mac used their kitchen appliances for things and they didn’t have a back-up microwave), and instead gestured towards his house.

‘Would you like a drink?’

That got a smile out of her, and a nod.

‘Thanks, Mac.’

* * *

‘…Dating is hard, and weird.’

Sitting at his kitchen counter, Beth took a sip of the glass of red wine he’d poured her. He snorted and sat down next to her with his own glass, nodding in agreement.

‘Oh, yeah. Trust me, I know.’

There was enough in his voice to make her turn to him, something sympathetic or empathetic in her eyes.

‘Has there been more than one Darlene Martin-esque Incident in your life?’

(Bozer had told her the story, of course.)

He took a sip of his wine.

‘In hindsight, the Darlene Martin Incident was far from being the low point of my love life.’ His expression grew wry. ‘No matter what fourteen-year-old me thought.’ He paused, took another sip of wine. He had no idea why he was telling her this, since he didn’t really like to talk about it (it wasn’t the alcohol – he’d had two sips), but the words came out of his mouth easily, for some reason. ‘My first serious girlfriend’s name was Nikki Carpenter…’

* * *

**TWO MORE GLASSES OF WINE LATER**

* * *

‘…If you ever tell Jack and/or Boze that…’

‘They will make jokes about it for all eternity?’

Mac nodded sagely.

_Beth has three ex-boyfriends._

_One is Indiana’s youngest-ever Senator and even touted by some as a potential future presidential candidate._

_One is actually a colleague of mine at JPL. Coincidences are statistically inevitable, though this is a very ‘small world’ one. Anyway, the point is, Kevin Lee is a rocket scientist._

_And the third is a neurosurgeon._

_Jack and Boze would have a field day with that, what with the whole saying about rocket science and brain surgery._

Beth finished the last of her glass, and he held up the bottle, offering her some more. She shook her head, so he got up and dug out the little device he’d made years ago for re-sealing half-drunk bottles of wine.

She gave a wry smile as he sealed the bottle.

‘Maybe we should start a bad-at-dating club, Mac.’

He matched that smile as he put the wine away.

‘I’m guessing membership in this club will get you wine and somebody to complain about dating with?’

She nodded and pointed at him.

‘Exactly what I was thinking!’

He gave a small smirk.

‘Great minds _do_ think alike.’

* * *

**THE PRESENT**

* * *

Beth laughed as she opened the box to reveal four milkshake glasses, the old-school kind made of glass.

Her brow furrowed a little as she ran a finger along the outside of one of them; it didn’t _quite_ feel like normal glass.

Mac smiled, and tapped the outside of the glass.

‘They’re coated with a thin insulating layer, so your milkshakes will stay colder for longer.’

That was a particularly important quality for summer in LA.

(He was also considering adapting it to beer. They usually drank it straight out of the bottle, but if he made insulated beer glasses, they really should change over…)

Beth smiled wider, before her expression grew a bit sheepish.

‘Now I really want a milkshake…’ She turned to him. ‘Would you like one too?’

He smiled wider too, and just shrugged.

‘How could I say no?’

* * *

Half an hour later, Mac and Beth were drinking still-cold milkshakes (his was chocolate with chopped-up marshmallows on top – from his pantry, since she didn’t have any -  while hers was vanilla with pumpkin pie spice added to it), sitting on her couch and watching a classic episode of _Mythbusters,_ the one in which they tested idioms.

As they watched the bull run around the fake china shop, Beth turned to him as a realization hit her.

‘You know, I bet _you_ could make a pretty dress out of a potato sack.’

He chuckled, pursed his lips and raised his hands, expression teasing.

‘You’ve got to give me more than that to work with!’

Beth pretended to consider for a moment, before amending her statement, just as teasingly.

‘You can have a potato sack, a handful of paperclips, duct-tape and…a turkey baster.’ She paused, voice growing a bit sheepish. ‘I’m actually half-serious…’

(Now that she’d thought of it, she really, really wanted to see a potato sack dress. It was a matter of scientific curiosity.)

(She also really liked watching Mac do his thing, so…)

(Two birds, one stone?)

Mac gave a little smirk.

‘Challenge accepted.’ He paused, expression shifting from teasing to quite serious. His brain was currently whirring with ideas on how to turn a potato sack, paperclips, duct-tape and a turkey baster into a pretty dress. ‘And me too.’

* * *

Later, after Mac had gone back to his place, Beth unpacked the two clean milkshake glasses to put them into their newly-designated spot in the corner of her ‘glasses and cups’ cupboard.

As she lifted them out of the box, she noticed a small piece of paper, folded into quarters, underneath one of them.

Brow furrowing, she put away the milkshake glasses quickly, then picked up the piece of paper and unfolded it to find a message in Mac’s surprisingly-neat handwriting.

(The neatness was at least partially attributable to the fact that he used large, block letters.)

**It would have been close to impossible for you to look prettier, and I really like your weird. That’s what I was thinking that night. You have no idea how close it came to coming out then, so…I wanted to tell you.**

She grinned like a giddy teenager, blushing furiously and hugging the note to her chest, spinning around, before an idea and a rush of courage and resolve hit her (he _had_ taken the first step, after all, she could take the next one; this shift hadn’t rocked the boat at all…at least, not in a bad way).

She blinked twice and started planning her head.

Heading up the stairs to her bedroom, Beth carefully stashed her precious note into her ‘treasured memories of LA’ box in the second-to-bottom drawer of her nightstand, before grabbing her purse and pulling out her day planner to double-check her schedule for the next few days and plan out the timing of her idea.

Her thinking-face appeared as she considered what she’d need.

She did have one in the far left corner of her attic, though it’d need a very thorough dusting…

* * *

**FBI OFFICES**

**LA**

* * *

‘Hey, Riley!’

Bozer, in a purple plaid three-piece suit (he ignored the haters), waved at Riley as she pulled up in her car.

(She was picking him up from work as they’d carpooled that morning, since she’d had meetings nearby all day.)

‘Hey, Boze.’ She gestured to the front passenger seat. ‘I got those maple-bacon donuts you were raving about…’

Bozer grinned even wider.

‘You, Miss Riley Davis, are awesome!’

Riley grinned back as he got in the car, and Bozer reached out to bump his fist to hers before doing up his seatbelt.

* * *

Unnoticed, Matilda Webber watched as she waited for her own pick-up.

She was very fond of Bozer. He was one of her favourite employees for a reason; always willing to speak truth to power, and an excellent, almost supernaturally talented, forensic accountant.

But he had really, really needed a kick up the butt when it came to his friend Riley (she could tell, just by looks on his face and snatches of phone calls and glimpses when they carpooled) and had had to give him a lecture on proper behaviour.

To his credit, Bozer had done his best to change (with the occasional backslide, as old habits died hard…and it seemed that struggling a little with boundaries due to excitement or over-enthusiasm was inherently part of Bozer’s personality), and it appeared to Matty that Bozer and Riley were now proper friends, with no expectations, not as a stepping-stone to something more.

A sleek, black car that’d been going very quickly pulled up in front of her, the driver demonstrating perfect control.

She shook her head fondly.

He _did_ like to show off his skills, show that he still had it, even though he’d been a paper-pusher and trainer for four years now.

(That last deep-cover mission had nearly broken him, and nearly broken _them._ )

(One year had dragged into two, into three, and into four...)

(The cost had been much more than four years of their life together.)

(Four years was a long time for a woman in her late thirties.)

(It’d taken time and effort and sacrifices – she knew he missed the field often, being out there and saving innocent lives _directly_ – to rebuild their relationship, but it’d been so, so worth it.)

Matty opened the front passenger door to reveal her husband, CIA agent Ethan Reigns, in the driver’s seat, KC and the Sunshine Band blaring, in stark contrast to the sleek black car with matching black leather interior. She shook her head fondly, got in, and leaned over to kiss him in greeting, before putting on her seat belt and speaking, knowing that he’d pick up on the underlying teasing tone in her voice, even if others wouldn’t.

‘Your left side drifted out a bit too far.’

He smiled and shook his head fondly, voice just as teasing as hers had been.

‘You’ve always had the soft touch.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Matty and Ethan get to be happily married in this ‘verse! And any guesses as to what Beth is up to?
> 
> Tomorrow’s gift for Beth: Five Upcycled Plant Pots.


	5. Five Upcycled Plant Pots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout-out to Madhatter1981 for catching my mistake with KC and the Sunshine Band (I put Kasey and the Sunshine Band…) in the last chapter.

**DECEMBER 18 th **

**A NICE BUT NOT FANCY RESTAURANT**

**LA**

* * *

Jack did a double-take as he walked into the restaurant to find Riley and her mother Diane seated at a table, with only one other place set.

(Riley had invited him, Mac, and Bozer to have dinner with her and her mom. Apparently, the other two weren’t going to show.)

Riley just smiled at him in a way that was _too_ innocent.

(She might be able to fool others, but she couldn’t fool him.)

Jack reached their table, and leaned down to kiss Diane’s cheek in greeting, before hugging Riley, speaking as he did.

‘You’re up to something, kiddo.’

It wasn’t a question.

Her voice was innocent and a touch confused (a little too much so) when she responded.

‘Bozer’s busy at work, and you know Mac has plans.’

Those might be true (Mac having plans almost-certainly was, for once), but Jack had been around the block enough times to know that the best subterfuge was built around a kernel of truth.

* * *

When dinner was over and they were waiting for their dessert and Diane was in the bathroom, Jack gestured to Riley with his drink.

‘I know what you’re doing, Riley.’

She affected a look of incredulous confusion.

‘I’m waiting for my chocolate cheesecake.’

‘No, no.’ He pointed at Diane’s empty seat. ‘Inviting your mom to dinner tonight, just the three of us?’ He pointed at Riley. ‘It’s just like when Susan and Sharon recreated their parents’ first date at Martinelli’s.’

She raised an eyebrow at him.

‘Okay, try again with different words.’

‘ _The Parent Trap!’_ Jack crossed his arms. ‘You might not be identical twins with yourself, but I know you invited your mom here tonight to try and rekindle whatever spark we might have between us. Who do you think you are, Hayley Mills?’

Riley’s eyebrow rose further.

‘I think you mean Lindsay Lohan.’

‘I’m not talking about the reboot; reboots never work!’

‘That one worked.’

‘The point is, I’ve seen the movie too many times.’ Jack crossed his arms stubbornly. ‘It’s not going to happen.’

Riley’s expression softened a little, and she raised her hands in supplication.

‘Okay. Just…between Sarah and Dixie…’ Jack was sure Riley remembered Dawn’s name, but she really didn’t like the woman, which was fair enough, since she’d stolen all of Jack’s stuff. ‘…you’ve had your share of heartbreaks.’ And those were just the ones that Riley had been around for. She’d missed Wendy, for example. ‘So has Mom. Now that she’s moved back to LA, would it really be so bad if you two gave it another shot?’

Jack was silent for a moment, but when he opened his mouth to speak, he was interrupted by Diane returning to the table and their desserts arriving.

* * *

**BETH’S RESIDENCE**

**PASADENA**

* * *

Meanwhile, Mac and Beth were sitting at her kitchen table, eating chicken pesto pasta (taken out of her freezer and heated back up) and freshly-made salad (utilizing a combination of ingredients from each of their fridges – he didn’t want to mess up her very carefully planned-out grocery schedule, since she bought scarily-precisely enough food for herself).

He had not _intended_ to join her for dinner, intending to just give her the five up-cycled plant pots of varying sizes he’d made her (they were made mostly from old PVC and metal piping, and were now sitting out on the sheltered area of her deck, just by her back door, for her to transfer the aloe vera and herbs that she grew in plastic pots to when she had time).

He was then _supposed_ to go have dinner with Riley, Diane, Jack and Bozer.

However, at 5 pm, he’d gotten a text from Bozer saying that he was going out for burgers with Cage and Jill (Cage had insisted and said it was her treat), but if Jack asked, to say that he was working late.

(Riley’s fingerprints were all over that, particularly since she and Bozer had been scheming – on and off - to get Jack and Diane back together since _last_ Christmas.)

(Mac got _why_ ; even he – who wasn’t always the best at correctly interpreting the interactions between people, though he was far better when he wasn’t involved – could tell that Jack and Diane still had some kind of spark between them, an attraction that had never quite ended, feelings that had never quite gone away.)

(Still, he tried to stay out of the scheming. That level of interference wasn’t really his speed, and besides, he might somehow screw it all up. He’d tried to help Jack and Riley’s reconciliation along by having a chat with Riley and had somehow managed to make it _worse_ , after all.)

And then, when he’d popped by Beth’s place, she’d insisted that he stay for dinner, as Riley had called in a favour from her.

The favour was apparently getting Mac to stay for dinner.

(By any means necessary, Beth had been told, though Riley had specified that she didn’t want to know any details about the means.)

(Beth was quite sure that that was _not_ because Riley wanted plausible deniability for being charged as an accessory to kidnapping and false imprisonment.)

Mac took another bite of pasta, chewed and swallowed.

Jack and Bozer were completely convinced that Cage, Jill, Riley and Beth in one group, and Riley, Diane and Ellen MacGyver in a separate group, were conspiring about them, Mac and James MacGyver.

Mac was pretty sure that for once, this wasn’t an example of Jack and Bozer (especially Jack) being paranoid, but also knew better than to try and counter-act it.

Besides, most of their conspiracies wound up benefiting them, in the longer term. Mac knew that Jack would be grateful for the lowering of his cholesterol levels, even if he was currently grousing about the limitations to his bacon intake.

In this case, he had no complaints.

_Beth is an excellent cook, and even better company._

_Besides, remember the aim of this entire endeavour?_

_What am I going to do, say no to spending more time with her?_

_I’m not_ that _crazy._

* * *

**TEN MONTHS AGO**

* * *

Mac parked his Jeep in the driveway (he really need to clean out the garage after going a bit overboard at a garage sale three days ago), and got out of it, wincing a little as his left hand brushed against the wheel.

At the same moment, Beth walked out of her front door, presumably to go check the mail, and waved and smiled at him.

He smiled and waved back, only to see her expression shift into something that he could only describe as doctor-y.

(It was professional and analytical, but still caring and rather warm.)

She marched over and started examining the back of his left hand, with fierce determination that told him that he had no choice but to submit to her examination.

(Jack and the boys would tell you that he was a terrible patient liable to give medics conniptions.)

(Mac _hated_ being stuck in an infirmary or a hospital, utterly useless.)

‘Work accident?’

He nodded, only to realize that she probably couldn’t see, since she was still examining his hand, and spoke.

‘Yeah, it’s just a minor burn, Beth, I’ve already run it under cold water for 20 minutes.’

It was just superficial, no blistering, and would be completely gone in a few days.

Beth let go of his hand, and then spoke very firmly, in a _listen-to-me-or-else_ voice.

That famous quote from _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_ flashed through his mind.

_‘And though she but be little, she is fierce.’_

‘Stay here, I’ll be back in a minute.’

She hurried back into her house, and indeed came back a minute later, holding a freshly-cut piece of aloe vera wrapped in cling wrap.

Then, still in a very doctor-y voice, she addressed him again.

‘Apply fresh cold compresses every half-hour, and…’ She handed him the aloe. ‘…apply this to it before you go to bed, and take some Tylenol.’

It didn’t really hurt that badly, he could definitely bear it, and he had borne much worse…

‘I’m fine, I don’t need-‘

Beth cut him off before he could continue.

(Apparently, those particular thoughts had shown on his face.)

‘There is no sense in bearing unnecessary pain, simply because you _can_ , Mac.’ She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘If I have to, I will come over and make sure you look after that properly, which includes adequate pain relief.’ She jabbed at the air in front of his chest with a finger. ‘And you will face my wrath, which is terrifying!’

He had no doubt that she’d follow through on that threat.

Despite her utterly unthreatening appearance, he was also sure that her wrath was terrifying.

He absolutely did not want to get on her bad side.

(Friendly relations with your neighbour were very important for a peaceful home life.)

So, he raised his hands in supplication.

‘I will apply regular cold compresses, use this…’ He gestured to the aloe in his right hand with his head. ‘…and take some Tylenol, Beth, I promise.’ He paused, and then gestured to the aloe again. ‘You just happen to grow this?’

Beth gave a wry, fond smile, like she was remembering something with affection.

‘It’s a habit I picked up from my mom. She’s a chemistry professor, Dad’s a biomedical engineer who doesn’t just consider engineering a job, but a lifelong hobby, so…’ Her smile grew more wry. ‘…there was a need.’

* * *

**THE PRESENT**

**MACGYVER’S RESIDENCE**

**PASADENA**

* * *

Late that evening, after Mac had returned to his home and Bozer had come home after burgers, teased and interrogated Mac, and then rushed off to his room (Mac had a feeling – a somewhat worried feeling – that Bozer had gotten inspiration for a movie, or a scene for a movie), Jack opened the front door as he was finishing up loading the dishwasher.

Mac smirked teasingly at the older man.

‘How was dinner?’

Jack crossed his arms and smirked right back.

‘How was _your_ dinner-date?’

Mac gave a little head-shake. He probably deserved that, but he wasn’t going to let Jack know that.

‘It was not a date.’ He paused, expression growing wry. ‘Not yet.’

Jack pointed at him, eyes and expression and voice suddenly growing serious.

‘Don’t chicken out Christmas Day, son. You’ll regret it.’

Mac nodded, just as seriously, meeting Jack’s eyes.

‘I know.’

Jack gave a little nod, before plonking himself down on Mac’s couch, as the younger man left the kitchen and sat in the armchair.

‘It can take a man _years_ to realize he’s made a mistake.’

Mac gave a snort, shaking his head with fond exasperation.

‘Is this about you now?’

‘Well, I thought you were done!’ He paused, voice growing serious again. ‘It’s Diane. She’s…she’s skipping around in my head a little bit.’

Mac smiled to himself and shrugged.

‘Hey, maybe that’s a good thing.’ He paused, spreading his hands wide. ‘You looked like you were having fun at charades night. And at skeeball two weeks ago. And at the last poker night. And at Christmas last year.’

Jack waved a hand.

‘I get the point, brother, you can stop with your Mr-I-Got-a-Near-Perfect-Memory list.’

Mac held his hands up innocently.

‘Just giving you all the facts.’ His expression grew more serious as he lowered his hands and sought out Jack’s eyes. ‘You deserve a fairytale ending, Jack. Both of you do. If you think you could find it with each other…’ Mac raised a shoulder. ‘…why not try?’

Jack looked lost in thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took a lot of Jack’s conversation with Riley, and his conversation with Mac at the end, from 2.15, Murdoc + Handcuffs, so can take no credit for that.
> 
> Fun fact – I did not learn that Tylenol = paracetamol until I did a medicinal chemistry class in July! (Here in Australia, paracetamol is sold as Panadol.) 
> 
> Tomorrow’s gift for Beth: Six Handmade Storage Pouches.


	6. Six Handmade Storage Pouches

**DECEMBER 19 th **

* * *

**FIVE AND A HALF MONTHS AGO**

**MACGYVER’S RESIDENCE**

**PASADENA**

* * *

On a Saturday afternoon, Mac more-or-less wrestled with his latest project: a Roomba-style automatic lawnmower.

His and Bozer’s lawn was small, with their small backyard dominated by the deck, so mowing it the normal way was frankly a waste of time and effort.

Hence, the Roomba lawnmower.

He smiled as the final piece slotted into place, and in the next breath, swore as a sharp pain tore through the back of his left shoulder.

He put down the lawnmower carefully, and raised his hand to the area, touching it gently. His fingers came away covered in blood, just as he’d suspected.

He groaned.

It was an awkward area to clean and bandage himself (he wasn’t stupid, he did know that he couldn’t just leave it), and he also really had no way of examining it properly to see if it was deep enough that it needed stitches (again, he wasn’t stupid, even if he’d developed a bit of a reputation for being rather resistant to medical attention – he just hated feeling useless and being benched).

_Well, I do live next door to a doctor._

_A very nice doctor, who is also my friend and is currently home._

_I currently need medical attention._

_There is only one reasonable course of action._

Mac grabbed a wad of paper towels, and held them to his shoulder to try and stem the bleeding and headed next door.

* * *

He knocked on the door, and it opened a moment later to reveal Beth, wearing a soft-looking dark-grey Henley and jeans, with an apron over the top that read _My other PPE is a labcoat._

(She was cooking on her day off to replenish her supply of frozen meals.)

He smiled, despite his bleeding shoulder.

‘Hi, Beth, sorry to bother you-‘

She indicated his shoulder that he was still holding the paper towels to, and opened the door wider and sighed, shaking her head.

‘Inside,  _now_.’ Her tone brooked no argument, very much her _listen-to-me-or-else_ doctor’s voice. He stepped inside, and she pointed down the hallway. ‘The bathroom’s the first door on the right.’

Obediently, he walked down the corridor and entered the bathroom. She followed a moment later, a stool in one hand and the largest first-aid kit Mac had ever seen in the other.

She put down the stool and he sat down, his back to her. She took one look at his shoulder, and then moved around to his front, pulling on a pair of gloves as she did so.

‘We’re going to have to get your shirt off.’ He made to start undoing the buttons, but she shook her head at him. ‘Sit still, let me do it, moving that shoulder’s got to hurt.’ She started undoing the buttons of his shirt with a sigh. ‘Which one of your projects did this to you?’

He gave a small smile.

‘Automatic lawnmower. Kind of like a Roomba, but for lawns.’

She shook her head with a little snort of laughter, parting his shirt and pulling it off him as gently as she could as she finished undoing the buttons.

‘Let me guess. You watched a few too many infomercials, and got inspired?’

There was a rather-deliberate sounding casualness to her tone. 

He had scars from his eight years in the Army.

Of course he did, both mental and physical.

The most notable physical ones were one on his left pectoral, from a bullet that’d come too close for comfort to his heart and the subsequent surgery to remove the fragments, and another pair on the front and back of his left shoulder, from a bullet that’d gone through-and-through, the entry wound small, the exit wound at the back larger and uglier.

He knew that she would recognize them for what they were, being a doctor.

For a moment, he looked into her eyes, which held hints of admiration and curiosity, but mostly sympathy and sadness, before those emotions slid away and were replaced by caring professionalism.

‘Late night television is dangerous, apparently.’

She stepped around him again, shaking her head with a little smile at his comment, and started examining his shoulder properly.

‘Well, you’re lucky, it’s not deep enough to need stitches, as long as you promise to be a good patient and be relatively careful.’

He nodded with a small smile at the firmness and the hint of a threat in her tone.

‘I promise.’

She nodded, satisfied, and reached into the medical kit on the vanity next to them.

‘I’ll clean and bandage it. I bet you know the drill, keep it clean and dry, and get Bozer, or me, I suppose, to change it for you once a day. If you don’t have the supplies, I can give you some. I’m guessing you’ve had a tetanus shot within the last five years?’

He nodded.

‘Yeah.’ 

He heard the sound of a sterile bandage’s package being ripped open, and then he felt her gently attach the bandage to his skin, her fingers brushing coincidentally over the exit wound scar as she did.

(The sensation there was different from the rest of his body, even a little different from his other scars, he thought.)

There was a comfortable silence as she cleaned up, tossing the bandage wrapper and bloodied alcohol wipes, gauze and gloves into the bin, before washing her hands thoroughly and re-packing her first-aid kit.

When she was done, he broke the silence, smiling gratefully at her.

‘Thanks, Beth.’

She smiled back.

‘Well, I am a doctor.’ Her smile widened a little, becoming more teasing. ‘Though, as payment for this and all  _hopefully very rare_  future medical care, though I expect you’ll need it more often than either of us would like…’ He gave a wry, sheepish smile. Given they’d been neighbours for five months, and that she’d already provided him with some kind of medical care three times, that seemed a likely conclusion. ‘…I expect you to show me your Roomba-lawnmower when it is done, and I may demand that you make me one.’

His smile widened too.

‘Deal.’

* * *

**THE PRESENT**

* * *

As she and Mac sat on her back deck, Beth put down her glass of egg-nog (Bozer had made a test run, and _insisted_ that Mac take some over for their neighbour, though he had curiously declined to come too – Mac had a sneaking suspicion that his best friend was currently crouching down on the other side of the fence and eavesdropping), and started unwrapping the soft parcel on her lap, as carefully and methodically as ever.

She pulled out the first of six pouches of various sizes, all lined with plastic and made of easily machine-washable, stain-resistant fabric.

Mac gestured at them with his own mug of egg-nog.

‘They’re for your first-aid kit.’

Beth smiled in a way that was rather self-deprecating.

‘I _do_ love my organization.’ That made him smile into his mug as he took a sip. ‘And you can sew?’ She continued, a bit like she was thinking out-loud, not censoring herself, examining the workmanship of the pouches. ‘Is there anything, aside from charades, Pictionary and following rules that you _aren’t_ good at?’

She sounded simultaneously impressed, curious, as if she was trying to work out _how_ that could be so, and a little disbelieving.

He shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand.

‘Definitely singing and dancing. Driving, arguably.’ She raised an eyebrow at that. ‘I did most of my early driving in Afghanistan.’ She made an _ah_ sound. ‘And that…’ He indicated the pouches in her lap. ‘…is about as complicated a sewing project as I can handle. I’m nowhere near as good at it as Boze.’

That was said rather pointedly towards the fence.

There was a clattering sound and some muffled cursing that sounded suspiciously like Bozer.

Mac, suspicions confirmed, looked very apologetically over at Beth, who just shook her head in a very fondly exasperated way.

‘I’m really sorry about that.’

She shrugged, smiling wryly.

‘That’s family, right?’

* * *

**JAMES AND ELLEN MACGYVER’S RESIDENCE**

**MISSION CITY**

* * *

Jim shouldered his worn, brown leather duffle and grabbed his small suitcase, pulling them out of his and Ellen’s bedroom.

He had a business trip (a very important business trip – there always was a whole slew of important meetings just before Christmas, before the sort-of ‘shutdown’ the holiday season generated) to D.C.

His wife was sitting at the dining table, doing some marking, but she got up immediately when she heard the suitcase wheels.

He dropped his bag and let go of his suitcase to step closer to her, resting his forehead against hers for a moment.

‘I’ll be home for Christmas.’

He said it like it was a promise, because it was.

He had his important meetings to go to, and he had to focus on those for the next four days as they were important for his work, for making the country and the world a better, more peaceful place, but he _would_ be home by Christmas Eve, and he was hers and their family’s for Christmas.

(They had a flight on Christmas afternoon down to LA to visit Mac and his family – who, as Ellen said, were their family too, by the law of transitive property.)

Ellen smiled, winding her arms around his neck and leaning forward to kiss him, long and lingering. A reminder, or an anchor.

‘Don’t you dare be late.’

His phone chimed in his pocket, indicating that his Uber had arrived.

With a little sigh (she was used to this, understood it, understood his dedication to his work and why he did it, and ultimately accepted it, but it _was_ just six days ‘till Christmas…), Ellen let go of him, and helped him to shoulder his bag again.

* * *

In his Uber, Jim watched his front door and his waving wife until she was out of sight, raising his own hand to wave just before that happened.

Then, he turned to face forwards and focused his mind on the all-important briefing he’d have to give the next morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, I really enjoyed writing Jim and Ellen in this story, a lot more than I thought I would…
> 
> For those who don’t like James MacGyver – don’t worry, not everything’s going to be smooth sailing for him in this story! :P Stay tuned!
> 
> Tomorrow’s gift for Beth: Seven Robot-Fighting VIP Tickets.


	7. Seven Robot-Fighting VIP Tickets

**DECEMBER 20 th**

**BETH’S RESIDENCE**

**PASADENA**

* * *

Beth laughed as she opened the holly-patterned envelope in her hands, pulling out seven VIP tickets to a robot-fighting competition.

Specifically, the one that Mac had entered his former-Roomba-lawnmower (it’d had a career change) in.

She glanced up at him, raising an eyebrow.

‘You actually did it?’

He nodded, smiling back at her.

‘I received some excellent advice on the matter.’

* * *

**FIVE MONTHS AGO**

**MACGYVER’S RESIDENCE**

**PASADENA**

* * *

As he finished his lunch (ravioli prepared by a ravioli-making spaghetti machine, just because he’d been really, really bored), Mac just happened to look through the glass doors that led to his backyard.

His heart sank and he felt a sense of panic.

His automatic lawnmower was  _not_  obediently mowing the lawn like it was supposed to. Like he’d turned it on to do this morning.

Instead, his grass had been mowed in some sort of Pacman-maze-like pattern, and the lawnmower had somehow broken through the fence, and into Beth’s yard.

Quickly seizing the kill switch he’d made for the Roomba-lawnmower (Last week, he and Bozer and Jack had had quite the discussion on robots and AI and the robo-pocalypse, as Jack called it. While Jack’s beliefs were firmly rooted in science fiction, and not science _fact_ – he really hadn’t considered Asimov’s Three Laws of Robotics – and the lawnmower wasn’t exactly an AI anyway, Mac  _had_ created a kill switch just in case.), he rushed over to the fence between his and Beth’s yards (which was leaning at forty-degree angle and had a very large hole in the bottom of it), and peered over it.

His rogue lawnmower had apparently also decided to mow her lawn in a crazy pattern…and was currently starting to grind through the edge of her deck nearest the lawn and make its way under it. It was about a third of a way in.  

Mac swore and hit the kill switch, and then ran back inside, through his house, and to Beth’s front door.

_Great work, MacGyver._

_Normal guys give the woman they’re interested in – yes, I admit it - flowers or chocolates._

_You, apparently, give her a ruined fence, yard and deck, courtesy of your rogue automatic Roomba-style lawnmower._

He knocked, and the door opened immediately. Beth stood on the other side, standing rather lopsidedly, as she was wearing only one boot. The other one was right beside her, and it looked like he’d caught her in the middle of putting them on.

‘Oh, hi, Mac. I was just about to come over and get you; I think your Roomba lawnmower’s gone a bit rogue…’

He nodded sheepishly at her, as she slipped off her boot and led him through her home and towards the backyard.

‘I think it’s gone  _more_  than a bit rogue. I’m really, really sorry, Beth…’ They arrived in the backyard, and looked over the ruined fence, the  _interestingly_ patterned grass, and the damaged deck. He knelt down and prised the culprit out of her porch. ‘I really am very, very sorry. I’ll fix your deck and the fence, I promise.’

She sighed and looked down at him and the lawnmower in his hands for a moment, then shook her head with a wry little smile.

‘Well, your projects really are always  _interesting_.’ She looked more serious for a moment. ‘It’s alright, Mac, I forgive you. You’re human, and failure’s a part of science, anyway. A  _big_  part of science.’ Then, she clapped her hands together and smiled wider with almost-childlike excitement as an idea hit her. ‘Though, maybe we’ve got a sort-of  _cis_ -platin style failure on our hands. Mowing the lawn is  _clearly_  not this robot’s calling, but maybe you could consider entering it in a robot-fighting tournament?’

He stared at her for a moment, then burst into laughter. After a moment, she started giggling too. (This whole situation was quite nonsensical and, he supposed, his reaction probably looked absurd.)

A little voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Jack told him to  _not let this woman go without a fight_. Another voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like his grandfather just told him to  _go ahead and ask her to marry you already, since you’re already on your knees and all._

He told both voices to shut up (her yard was a mess and it was his fault…besides, he really, really liked this friendship they had, and he really, really didn’t want to mess it up or lose it) and then got up and smiled at her.

‘Seriously, thanks, Beth, I appreciate it.  _Really, really_  appreciate it. I’ll start fixing up your yard tomorrow, straight after work.’

She smiled back at him.

‘No need to rush, I know you’ll do it, and do it well.’ She looked more wry again, and poked him in the chest. ‘But I expect a ringside seat, when your Roomba-lawnmower makes its debut in the ring!’

He chuckled again.

‘You’ll be a VIP, of course, since you’re the one who suggested the career change!’

_I reallylucked out in the neighbour department, didn’t I?_

_Two in a row who don’t mind when my projects overflow into their yard._

_I can’t possibly be third time lucky, it’s just far too statistically improbable._

_Ergo, I simply can’t risk rocking the boat._

_We’re neighbours. Lots of potential for really awkward situations there._

_And we’re friends. Good friends. I really, really don’t want to lose that. Maybe I_ can’t _lose that._

* * *

Two weeks later, Mac had finished fixing Beth’s deck and removed the entire fence between their backyards.

(It was too structurally-unsound to just be patched, but fortunately, he could salvage most of the wood for something else.)

The reason why it had taken so long to achieve just that was simply because on her insistence, he had had to wait until the cut in his shoulder healed before he started, and he didn’t work on it when Beth wasn’t home.

(And that was _not_ because, as Riley suggested, he wanted an excuse to spend more time with her.)

(He just thought it was creepy to be on her property when she wasn’t home.)

And it was definitely not because he was undoing his work in the middle of the night (like Penelope, Odysseus’s wife in _The Odyssey_ ), as suggested by Jack and Bozer, so that he could have an excuse to talk to her in perpetuity (though he doubted Jack, at least, was inspired by Greek mythology).

_We’re friends._

_I don’t need an excuse to talk to her or spend time with her._

_And if I needed an excuse, there are far better ones than fixing her fence, which I destroyed._

He continued digging a hole for the first of the new fence posts, wiping the sweat from his brow, glad that he’d swapped his usual long-sleeved flannel or button-down for a short-sleeved polo shirt.

It was a particularly hot, sunny day, even for August. The sort of day that reminded him a little too much of the Sandbox.

Still, a promise was a promise, and he had to get this fence fixed.

It was Saturday and Beth’s day off, so he had plenty of time to work on it today, and forecast top of 100°F or not, he was going to do plenty of work.

The hole finished, Mac wiped his brow again, and grabbed his water bottle and took a healthy swig. He made a face as he drank; the water was very warm.

Focusing on the fixing of the fence (and the story behind how he wound up having to fix it in the first place) really helped keep those unpleasant memories at bay.

He was just about to start on the second hole when Beth stepped out onto her deck, wearing a loose cream T-shirt and a very flattering pair of denim shorts that reached mid-thigh, hair up in a high ponytail in a concession to the heat. She was also holding a jug of lemonade with ice cubes bobbing in it.

_That…also helps._

_We didn’t get any lemonade in the Sandbox._

_Or…you know_

‘You’ve been working for forty minutes, Mac. Come inside, have a break and a cool drink.’

Her tone of voice told him that there was no point in arguing with her, she wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Besides, he wasn’t inclined to argue with her anyway.

It was stinking hot.

Instead, he put down his shovel and stepped up onto her deck, following her through the glass doors and into her wonderfully cool, air-conditioned living room, shooting her a teasing look.

‘Have you been timing me?’

Beth picked up a glass from her coffee table and poured him some lemonade, pressing it into his hands and smiling wryly up at him.

‘Yes.’ She poked his sternum with the hand that wasn’t holding the jug of lemonade. ‘I took the Hippocratic Oath, I can’t let you get heatstroke while fixing my fence!’

* * *

Another three weeks after that, Mac and Beth put down their paintbrushes, the staining of the wood to match the existing fence complete.

(She had insisted on helping. She was stubborn, patient and logical, and consequently very persuasive.)

They smiled at each other as he sealed the can of stain again.

‘Thanks, Mac.’

He gave a little head-shake.

‘You don’t have to thank me. It’s my fault you needed a new fence in the first place!’

She shrugged, and reached out and put a hand on the fence.

‘It’s far superior to the old one.’

(It was much, much sturdier, and looked better. Mac had put more craftsmanship and care into it than whoever had built their townhouses.)

He lifted a shoulder somewhat awkwardly, and gestured with his head towards his side of the fence with a smile.

‘Bozer wants to grill tonight, would you like to join us?’

She smiled back.

‘I’d love to.’

* * *

**THE PRESENT**

**MACGYVER’S RESIDENCE**

**PASADENA**

* * *

‘…and when am I going to get to meet your neighbour, Angus? I have been wanting to for months, I’ve been holding myself back from asking, but I’m running out of patience!’

Mac, sitting in his room video-calling his mother, while Bozer sang Christmas carols loudly (and out-of-tune) in the background (he’d just picked up the turkey that he was doing in addition to pastrami this Christmas and was in a really Christmas-y mood), groaned.

(He wasn’t surprised that his mom had been wanting to meet Beth for months. His mother _always_ knew when he really, really liked someone, sometimes even before he did.)

(She’d even known about Nasha, just five minutes into his video-call with his parents on the way home from Nigeria, despite him not having mentioned her at all and the fact that half of what had happened in Nigeria was classified.)

(His dad, on the other hand, _had_ been surprised.)

(Mac had gotten the social awkwardness from him.)

(He’d asked his mom once, how she always knew, and she’d just smiled at him, fond and knowing and wise.)

(‘Mother’s instinct, Angus. I carried you for nine months, gave birth to you, and raised you and loved you and worried about you and was proud of you. I _know_ you.’)

‘Mom…’

Ellen MacGyver just raised an eyebrow at him, a small, teasing smile on her face.

‘I want to talk to her about joining my Women in STEM network; I think she’d make a great mentor and role-model for the young girls of California, don’t you?’

(It was clearly both an excuse and the truth; his mom didn’t have much guile, wasn’t much of a liar, being much worse at it than his dad.)

‘Of course, but…’ Spluttering, because he couldn’t really come up with what to say, Mac instead shot his mom a _look_ , and her smile widened, though it remained utterly unapologetic, before softening, gentling, reminding him of how she’d smiled at him when he’d come home from school the day he and Bozer declared themselves to be best friends. He sighed, own expression softening. ‘You’ll meet her at the Christmas party…just…don’t make a big deal of it, please.’

His mom quirked an eyebrow at him.

‘Will you have asked her out by then, Angus?’

‘Yes, I have a plan.’

Ellen MacGyver grinned like a cat that’d gotten the cream.

‘Oh, if she’s got you making plans, you must really, really like her…’

It was half-teasing, half-serious, and Mac nodded, seriously.

‘I do, Mom.’ He paused. ‘You’ll really like her too.’

His mother just smiled.

‘I know.’ His brow furrowed in a question (she sounded so _sure_ , despite never having met Beth), and she just continued, her smile soft and affectionate and happy and knowing, all at once. ‘From the way you talk about her, and how you smile when you do.’ She paused. ‘She makes you happy, Angus, and all I want is for you to be as happy as you can be, so of course, I’ll like her.’ Mac’s own smile widened. ‘I will not make a big deal of meeting her, I promise.’ He appreciated that she didn’t use the term _new girlfriend_ , unlike what he was sure his father would have done (Mac really did love his dad, they had an awful lot in common, spoke the same language fluently and had spent many a wonderful afternoon in the family workshop in the garage, but he was also arrogant and tended towards being condescending, and was consequently presumptuous and insensitive at times). Ellen’s smile grew more wry. ‘And I will make sure your father behaves himself.’

(James MacGyver wasn’t so great with boundaries and had that aforementioned unfortunate tendency to be an arrogant, condescending ass.)

(His mother had a unique gift of keeping him in line.)

(As such, Mac had luckily inherited a much more toned-down, weaker tendency to be arrogant and condescending. He was aware he was, sometimes, but really did try and seemed to find it easier not to be than his dad.)

He nodded gratefully.

‘Thanks, Mom.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing Mac interacting with his Mom is surprisingly difficult, because we have no idea how adult!Mac would interact with her, and very little about how small-child!Mac interacted with her. Still, I hope you liked what I did in this chapter!
> 
> And yes, in every single universe in which Mac and Beth are neighbours, he has to destroy her fence/deck/yard with his Roomba-lawnmower. It’s just become a thing! 
> 
> Tomorrow’s gift for Beth: Eight Science-Joke Fridge Magnets.


	8. Eight Science-Joke Fridge Magnets

**DECEMBER 21 st **

**JPL**

**PASADENA**

* * *

At 4:30 pm, Mac’s phone emitted a jingle bells sound, indicating that he had a text message.

(He’d changed it at the start of the month to help himself get into a holiday mood.)

He pulled out his phone, and read Beth’s text, a soft smile growing on his face.

(He’d had no choice but to leave her gift for the day in her mailbox, since, due to her shift schedule and the work meeting he had at 5, there was literally no time that they were both home that day.)

**Funny and useful and thoughtful and sweet! Gift-giving is definitely one of your many talents!**

That was followed by a photo of her fridge, the eight science-joke fridge magnets he’d made her now holding up her various lists and her calendar on the fridge.

* * *

**SIX MONTHS AGO**

**MACGYVER’S RESIDENCE**

**PASADENA**

* * *

Mac, all alone at home, continued to tinker with the Vespa he’d purchased after the Harley-Davidson (despite Jack’s protests that it was _way_ less cool – it wasn’t really about that for him, it was really more about the engineering and keeping his hands busy) that’d been in just-as-bad condition.

(Bozer was in San Francisco visiting his girlfriend Leanna, while Jack was visiting his sister in Waco and Riley had gone on a road trip with her boyfriend Billy to Dallas.)

One advantage of the fact that Bozer wasn’t home and Jack wasn’t around to crash was that he could work on it in his living room without comments on how weird it was.

(He admitted that putting that Thomas Krapper original prototype toilet in his dining room was weird, but it had been completely sterilized and wasn’t connected to any plumbing!)

The disadvantage was that meant he was all alone with his thoughts (his memories) and as such, he was a bit melancholy.

It’d been two years since his second-last mission with Delta in Nigeria.

Two years since…

* * *

_Nasha looked over at him as they built a new refrigeration unit for the village’s vaccines and antibiotics._

_The schoolteacher had her hair wrapped up in a brightly patterned, orange-coloured scarf (he thought this one was probably her favourite, with how often she wore it – and probably for good reason, since he thought it looked particularly good on her), and had that little smile on her face that he liked a lot more than he could admit, than he could allow himself to admit, her expression half-serious, half-teasing._

_‘This is not going to shock me, is it?’_

_He shook his head, smiling too._

_‘No, it won’t. I promise.’_

* * *

Mac sighed, trying to force himself to focus on the Vespa again.

It was probably only natural that he was a touch melancholy, since he was lost in melancholy thoughts.

When they’d returned home (leaving that little Nigerian village and its inhabitants safer, but also leaving them _behind_ ), he’d mourned some kind of could-have-been, might-have-been-in-another-life.

_Potential._

Feelings didn’t just go away overnight.

(And his grandfather had always said that he had a heart even bigger than his brain, so perhaps he held on to feelings longer or stronger than most.)

He’d always care. _Always._

Of course, Jack and Bozer and Riley had all checked in with him before they’d left, not wanting him to be left alone at this time (just like how everyone always made sure that he wasn’t alone during the anniversary of his very last Delta mission) but he’d told them to go, saying he’d be fine.

(Which he really, really was, honestly.)

(Every year, it got easier. This year was already far less melancholy than last year, which was in turn less painful than the actual departure.)

(Besides, he was pretty far from being alone. He could call his parents, or his old Delta team. Penny was still here, as were Cage and Jill and Beth, and his friends from work.)

Mac gave his head a little shake, and refocused on the Vespa.

Now that he’d let that memory run its course, it seemed just a little bit easier.

* * *

There was a knock on Mac’s door, and brow furrowing, he got up and opened the door, to find Beth standing on the other side.

She was wearing what had to be her pyjamas, baby-blue flannel pants with darker blue stars and a T-shirt with an atom and a cation having a conversation on it.

(‘I think I’ve lost an electron!’ ‘Are you sure?’ ‘I’m positive!’)

Her entire right side, from her hair to her flannel pants, was covered in large wet splotches, and there were droplets all over her left side.

He smiled in greeting (it was hard not too – her pyjamas were _adorable_ ), and Beth smiled back, looking very, very sheepish.

‘Hi, Mac, sorry to bother you, but can I ask you for a favour?’ He waved a hand to say, _go ahead_ , and smile widening a bit, she continued. ‘Could you take a look at my kitchen sink for me?’ She gestured at herself. ‘There is something very wrong with the faucet.’

_There are fourteen different possibilities, off the top of my head, that could lead to the water spraying out at an angle that’d lead to her being soaked the way she is while trying to use it normally._

_Most of them are easy fixes._

_Besides, I’m always up for doing a favour for a neighbour and friend._

* * *

Mac studied Beth’s kitchen sink’s faucet, which he’d removed and was holding in his right hand, looking through it with one eye.

As he lowered it, she looked up from where she was finishing her bowl of reheated-but-slightly-congealed bowl of oatmeal.

(Her kitchen sink’s sudden dysfunction had interrupted her breakfast – an afternoon breakfast, but breakfast nonetheless, according to her.)

Her voice was hopeful when she spoke.

(He didn’t blame her – calling out a plumber was a pain, and that was before considering Beth’s irregular work hours.)

‘Can you fix it?’

He nodded confidently.

‘Yeah, but I’m going to need some peanut butter, vinegar and a chopstick.’

She smiled, getting up from her seat and starting to grab the relevant items.

He noted that once she’d pulled out the peanut butter and realized that there was not that much in the jar, apparently guessing what he was going to use it for (it was high in fats and oils and very useful for removing oil from surfaces as a result) and how much he’d probably need, grabbed the pencil tied to a magnet on her fridge on a long string and wrote ‘peanut butter’ on one of several lists on said fridge.

‘Thanks, Mac.’ He immediately got to work disassembling the faucet to get to the blockage, as she returned to her oatmeal, took a bite, and made a face, as it was now cold again and very congealed. ‘Ugh…’ He couldn’t help but smile at that, as she scraped the last of the oatmeal into the trash and put her bowl and spoon in the dishwasher. ‘Oh, how is the Vespa going?’

He smiled wider, working his Swiss Army knife between the two cartridges.

_Nothing like good company, a little challenge, and some engineering talk to brighten your day._

* * *

**THE PRESENT**

**CAFÉ**

**LA**

* * *

Jack sat in the café, drumming his fingers along the table-top nervously.

(He’d closed up his garage early – an advantage of being self-employed.)

He didn’t have to wait long, though, because Diane strode in a minute later, wearing a very flattering caramel-coloured coat and a jewel-green scarf.

She smiled and sat down opposite him, and he nudged the coffee he’d ordered for her closer. Her smile widened as she took a sip of the mocha with an extra pump of chocolate syrup.

‘You remembered.’

He could only nod.

He’d found it very, very hard to forget this woman.

Something in her eyes (that same something that’d been in her eyes when she’d told him that he was more than good enough for both of them, that maybe, it wasn’t too late, then leaned over and kissed his cheek, close to the corner of his mouth, nearly a year ago now) told him that she hadn’t been able to either.

They sat there in silence for a while, both sipping their drinks.

It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, but there was something in the air. Something weighty and expectant, with some kind of tension (and not necessarily the bad kind) in the air, about to snap.

(There was a Very Important Conversation they had to have, regarding that tension and weight.)

Eventually, Jack broke the silence, as he so often did, but his voice was completely serious, and quiet and a bit hesitant, which it so rarely was.

‘We…we shouldn’t.’ He paused. ‘I messed it up big time last time.’

Diane shook her head, correcting him.

‘ _We_ messed up big time last time.’ Sure, he had been the one to walk out and refuse to answer her or Riley’s calls, but she should also have tried harder to not let the best man she’d ever had in her life walk out of their lives. She should have gone to his apartment, demanded an explanation, so that they could have had that conversation they’d had last Christmas years earlier. Then, she was sure, they wouldn’t be in this situation now, and maybe Riley might never have had to go to prison to protect her, had to create a new identity for her and send her into hiding in Vancouver, with a Delta Force Lieutenant Colonel for a father. Diane shook herself a little internally; there was no point dwelling on the what-could-have-beens. ‘It’d hurt Riley so much if we messed it up again.’

Jack nodded in complete agreement. Hurting Riley was the very last thing that either of them wanted to do.

He gave a small, fond smile.

‘She’s rooting real hard for us.’ His expression grew serious again. ‘But it’ll make things real complicated with Elwood around.’

It was Diane’s turn to nod in agreement.

Riley was trying to rebuild a relationship with her biological father. Jack, meanwhile, had somehow become sort-of friends with the other man.

(She, on the other hand, had no interest in re-establishing any kind of relationship with her ex, even if he’d gone sober for good and turned over a new leaf. Sure, she was supportive of her baby girl’s attempt to reconnect with him, and God knew Elwood could use a friend who was a good influence on him, but she had no desire to befriend him herself.)

Thus, there was a lot of potential for complication there. A _lot_ of potential.

‘And we have even more baggage this time.’

It’d been thirteen years.

Thirteen years more living (especially lives like theirs; single mother with admittedly poor judgement when it came to men who’d lived three years in hiding, Delta Force soldier who’d seen terrible things) had left them with more scars, more to carry.

Jack nodded too, looking, however, very sad. Disappointed.

He was silent for a while, drinking his coffee, before he spoke again, voice soft and hesitant. He gestured between them.

‘But this isn’t gonna go away, Diane.’

They could both still feel it, that magnetic pull between them, that spark, that warmth, deep inside.

Diane just gave a little nod, and took a deep breath before replying, her own voice soft and raw and utterly honest.

‘It never truly went away, Jack.’

He could only swallow and nod.

(It really hadn’t, not completely. It’d been there ever since they’d parted, dormant and buried, but definitely still there.)

She reached out and put her hand over his, running her thumb over the back of his palm, silent for a moment before speaking, in that exact same tone as she had last Christmas.

(‘Maybe it’s not too late.’)

‘We could take it slow…’

Jack’s face lit up with hope.

‘Make sure we find and defuse any landmines before we step on ‘em?’

Diane nodded, and he smiled, soft and slow, turning his hand over to tangle his fingers with hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the kitchen sink incident is a reference to my fic _The Kitchen Sink_. And Jack and Diane’s conversation is one that I really, really wish they’d have in canon, but probably won’t happen, unless they decide to give Jack a ‘fairytale’ ending when he’s written out…
> 
> Tomorrow’s present for Beth: Nine Fork Coat Hooks.


	9. Nine Fork Coat Hooks

**DECEMBER 22 nd **

**MACGYVER’S RESIDENCE**

**PASADENA**

* * *

Riley slipped into Mac and Bozer’s house, her rig and toolkit in a bag over her shoulder.

(She was helping Bozer make some upgrades to his computer, so that it was keeping up with his improved special effects skills.)

The living/dining/kitchen area of the house was unoccupied (Beth’s lights were on, and Riley assumed that Mac was over at her place), so Riley went up the stairs to knock on Bozer’s bedroom door.

‘Bozer?’

(She had a sneaking suspicion that she knew _why_ Bozer was hiding in his bedroom.)

(Today would have been his and Leanna’s one year anniversary, if they hadn’t broken up a couple months back.)

‘Hnng?’ Yeah, he was definitely moping. ‘Riley?’

Bozer swore, apparently remembering that they had plans for the day. There was the sound of him scrambling towards the door, and then it opened, to reveal Bozer with slightly-messy facial hair (he clearly hadn’t shaved yet), still wearing pyjamas.

Riley crossed her arms, but her expression and voice were gentle.

‘Come on, Boze. Shave, brush your teeth and get dressed. We’re going to the arcade, I’m going to kick your ass in Guitar Hero, and then we’re going to stuff our faces at that Mexican place with the awesome enchiladas.’

He stood there for a moment, before smiling, without his usual exuberance, but a smile nonetheless.

‘Thanks, Riley.’

She shrugged.

‘What are friends for?’

* * *

**MEANWHILE, NEXT DOOR…**

* * *

Mac finished screwing in the last screw, and stepped back to check that the new coat rack he’d made for Beth (it had nine hooks, all made of forks) was level. Satisfied, he put down his drill, just as Beth’s voice called out from the kitchen.

‘Mac, brunch is ready!’

(She’d gotten back from the hospital early that morning, after having worked a night shift. She’d slept four hours, and now, food was the priority.)

He smiled, and strode down the corridor, noting the veritable feast set out on the kitchen counter (pancakes from Beth’s new pancake-making toaster, scrambled eggs, grilled mushrooms and tomatoes and breakfast sausages, plus a small pitcher of maple syrup). Smile widening, he slipped past Beth, who was pouring two cups of coffee into mugs, and grabbed the orange juice from its usual place in the fridge, then two glasses from her ‘drinking vessels’ cupboard.

* * *

**THREE WEEKS AGO**

* * *

‘…Jack, none of those viruses are real!’

Mac rolled his eyes as he threaded cubed chicken thighs, zucchini blocks, bell pepper quarters and halloumi chunks onto metal skewers. Jack, who was loading Mac’s self-opening Esky with beer and other drinks (at least, he was _supposed_ to be doing that) very stubbornly crossed his arms.

‘That’s exactly what the government wants you to think, man!’

Meanwhile, Diane Davis just turned to her daughter with a raised eyebrow as they walked through the house to grab matches and fire-starters from the garage to light the fire-pit, as if to say, _are they always like that?_

Riley just nodded.

‘Yup.’

That was said in a very long-suffering way, underscored by affection.

At that moment, there was the sound of loud cursing in Bozer’s voice, as the grill shot to life with a _fwoof,_ before going out again.

‘ _Mac_!’

The blonde in question looked very sheepish.

Apparently, his latest grill modification hadn’t gone too well.

He put down the skewer he was holding and went to wash his hands, before heading out to the deck and his irate best friend.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Mac came back inside, a large grease stain on his shirt, another smudge on his cheek, and with lightly-singed eyebrows and the obligatory grease under his fingernails.

Out on the deck, Bozer was happy again, since the grill’s function had been restored.

At that moment, the front door opened, and in stepped Beth.

(She’d already had a key; Mac had told her she didn’t have to knock a few months’ back.)

‘Hi, everyone!’

They all waved back.

Mac, meanwhile, waved too, really, really wishing that he wasn’t covered in grease.

‘Hey, Beth!’

It was probably a little too enthusiastic a greeting.

(She’d spent the last four days at her parents’ house in West Lafayette for Thanksgiving, albeit a three-days-late Thanksgiving, due to her shifts.)

(He had found that he’d _missed_ her a little, even though she’d only been gone for four days, and was definitely coming back.)

Beth looked him up and down, first with a very doctor-y look on her face, making sure that only his eyebrows had been harmed, before her expression grew amused and curious.

After a moment, she raised her eyebrows at him.

‘You can’t look like _that_ and not tell me _why_!’

He shook his head with a wry look and a chuckle, before his expression turned sheepish.

‘My latest grill modification, it turns out, wasn’t, uh, a good idea.’ He gestured out towards the deck, where Bozer was now very focused on the grill and getting it to the perfect temperature (genuinely) and Diane and Riley were watching the newly-lit fire in the fire-pit closely ( _not_ genuinely, though reasonably subtly), having shanghaied Jack into setting up a trestle table. ‘Bozer wasn’t happy, so…’

He shrugged, and gestured out at the newly-fixed grill.

Beth’s smile turned teasing.

‘Happy roommate, happy life?’

He chuckled, and nodded.

‘Something like that.’

They stood there in silence for a moment (one that stretched a little too long and became a touch awkward), before Beth broke it, holding up the paper bag in her hand, branded with the logo of their local grocery store, then passing it to him, cheeks a bit pink.

‘There was a garage sale in my parents’ neighbourhood, and I saw these and, um, thought of you.’

Mac smiled (probably ridiculously widely) as he took the bag.

‘Thanks, Beth.’ He gestured to the deck, where Diane and Riley were currently glaring at Jack for not focusing hard enough on the trestle table assembly and focusing too much on spying. ‘Would you like to join us for dinner?’

She nodded, still smiling, and still blushing a bit.

‘I’d love to.’ She gestured vaguely in the direction of her home. ‘I’ll be back in twenty minutes with a quick dessert. How does vanilla pudding sound?’

* * *

Beth had barely gone out the front door when the vultures swooped.

(That is, Jack, Bozer, Riley and Diane came inside, and Jack and Bozer immediately approached Mac, while Riley and Diane, thankfully, hung back a little, though Riley had a little smirk on her face.)

‘So…’ Jack gestured to the paper bag in Mac’s hands, actually rubbing his hands together in anticipation. ‘What did she get you?’

Mac rolled his eyes, but knowing that trying not to feed the beast was hopeless, reached into the bag.

‘Just something from her parents’ neighbour’s garage sale.’

Mac pulled out a bundle of at least a dozen old, mismatched forks.

He grinned, several ideas as to what he could do with the forks already starting to swirl around his mind.

Jack and Bozer, meanwhile, just stared at the forks for a moment, before Jack spoke.

‘She saw _those_ and thought of you?’

Mac, with more than 50% of his brainpower occupied by fork-centric thoughts, and another 40% engrossed by thoughts of his lovely neighbour, just nodded without thinking through the implications properly.

‘Yup.’

Bozer and Jack exchanged another comically-similar look. Bozer actually sniffled, before pointing at the forks.

‘ _That_ is true love right there, people!’

Jack grinned in a way that was nearly a smirk.

‘Amen to that, brother!’

That triggered Mac’s brain to redistribute its capacity, and his ears started to burn under his hair as he spluttered.

‘Uh…um…ah…’ He paused, not that it made much difference. ‘Uh, why don’t we play charades tonight?’

That, thankfully, actually did the trick, and Jack whooped with excitement, while Bozer pointed at Mac.

‘I know what you’re doing; you’re trying to distract us, but…’ Bozer’s voice rose in volume. ‘You’re going _down_ , bro!’

(Charades was one of only five things that Jack and Bozer had determined that Mac was _bad_ at.)

(The other four were Pictionary, singing, dancing and driving.)

Unfortunately, Riley still shot him a little smirk, while Diane smiled knowingly, as Mac walked past them to deposit his forks in his bedroom.

* * *

Later that night, after being severely trounced in charades, Mac, already dressed for bed, picked up the bundle of forks, undoing the twine that bound them together, spreading the forks out on his desk.

He picked one up and stared at it, Bozer’s earlier words echoing in his head, mixing now and then with Beth’s.

(‘That is true love, right there, people!’)

(‘I saw these and, um, thought of you.’)

Mac didn’t think he was a coward.

(He’d spent eight years disarming bombs for the Army. Objectively, cowards did not do that.)

He didn’t think Beth was one either.

(No coward became an ER doctor and joined an MSF mission in Syria straight out of her residency.)

Still, if one looked at it objectively, neither he nor Beth was being very brave.

In hindsight, they’d missed a window to become something more than friends without realizing it was there. It’d passed months ago.

Now they were close friends, very close friends, and they _could_ be something more, but both of them were too scared to rock the boat and make that first step, too fearful of messing up what they already had.

(He thought it was understandable, all things considered, though he also got why his friends-who-were-family were so exasperated.)

(You probably had to be like him – or Beth - to truly, completely understand just how much it meant, to have somebody who spoke your language and not only accepted your weird, but actually got it and shared it.)

He put down the fork.

_But this boat needs rocking, or we’ll be stuck aground forever…_

He made a face.

_I think that metaphor has outlived its usefulness, but the point still stands._

_It’s time to be brave._

_Honestly, after all, I think we might be halfway there already. Drop’s not that big._

Mac absent-mindedly picked up another fork. Oddly enough, there was a bird stamped on the bottom of it, and some kind of autumnal scene, complete with a basket of pears.

_And then, it hit me._

He grabbed a notebook and started scribbling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I agree with Bozer that buying Mac garage-sale-forks because you saw them and thought of him is a sign of true love.
> 
> And yes, you finally get to see the origin of Mac’s OTT-romantic-gesture plan!
> 
> And something funny – there exists an absurd Christmas rom-com called _My Christmas Love_ , in which the female lead receives the 12 gifts described in the 12 Days of Christmas, from whom I assume (I’m only twenty minutes into the movie; it’s currently playing on TV) is her very friend-zoned male best friend. I very briefly debated actually doing the gifts described in the song, albeit modified/MacGyver-ed like the partridge was, then looked up the lyrics (I’m pretty sure I know the _Phineas and Ferb_ version by heart, but not the real one, which says a lot about me…) and was like, how in the world am I going to do ten lords a’leaping or eight maids a’milking? 
> 
> An update – I was unfair to the rom-com writers. Sorry! They re-invented some of the gifts (I missed a section of it while eating dinner; the first one was a literal partridge in a pear tree, but the sixth one was six pillows with geese on them, not actually six geese a’laying, and the seventh was ‘Seven Swans’ champagne – though there were nine dancing ladies and ten leaping lords, or at least, hired dancers in costumes…). Clearly if I had tried hard enough, I could have come up with re-inventions of the gifts from the song, but I’m much happier with what I wound up doing – otherwise, I’d have to come up with really weird ‘backstory’ fragments for Mac and Beth…they’re sufficiently weird on their own, methinks!
> 
> Tomorrow’s gift for Beth: Ten Improvised Pie Weights.


	10. Ten Improvised Pie Weights

**DECEMBER 23 rd **

**AIRPORT**

**WASHINGTON D.C.**

* * *

‘…My flight’s been cancelled.’ James MacGyver resisted the urge to run a hand through his hair as he called Ellen from D.C. airport. ‘I can’t get another connection into LA, but I’ve got one to Dallas, and I’ll drive from there.’ The car rental bill was going to be unreasonably high, but it’d be worth it. ‘I’ll still be home for Christmas.’

He said that as if it were a promise, or, more accurately, a reaffirmation of one.

He could hear the wry, teasing smile in her voice when she responded.

‘Oh, you’d better be, Jim, or I’ll make you regret it.’ He smiled too, soft and genuine and full of love, as her voice grew serious. ‘Drive carefully.’

His own smile grew more wry.

‘I always do.’

Ellen snorted.

She didn’t blame the fact that Angus had hardly driven before he’d wound up in Afghanistan for his driving skills.

She blamed Jim’s genetic contribution and years of him being an example.

His expression grew as sheepish as he ever looked.

(Ellen was the only person who could make him feel _sheepish._ )

‘I’ll see you soon.’

‘See you, Jim. Love you.’

He hung up, and was in the middle of putting his phone back into his pocket when a backpacker, wearing a huge backpack, practically _ran_ into him, knocking his phone out of his hand and sending it flying. It landed several feet away.

The young man jabbered out an apology and some kind of excuse about rushing for a connecting flight, but didn’t stop, continuing to run.

James scowled, and straightened his jacket, and turned to find his phone…

Only to see it get run over by a TSA agent in a golf cart in a serious hurry.

He very nearly cursed out-loud, and picked up the shattered remnants of his phone.

(It was even worse than the last time Angus had gotten hold of it.)

(Far worse.)

(This was not fixable.)

As if to emphasise that, the two cracked halves, barely held together by plastic and glass, fell apart completely in his hand, the lower half landing on his shoe.

* * *

Half an hour later, James boarded a crowded flight to Dallas, still without a phone.

He had considered purchasing a burner, so that he could keep in touch with Ellen, but had decided not to.

(Given the meetings he had just attended, and his overall security clearance, purchasing a burner at an airport after his flight plans had changed would raise red flags.)

(He did not want to have to deal with ‘please explains’, at the very least, from oversight, not right now.)

(Besides, Ellen knew his plans. She was a very clever woman, she’d be able to work out when to expect him.)

He stowed his bag, then sat down in his seat and tried to get some shut-eye.

He’d need it, if he was going to drive even part of twenty-six hours.

(Taking rental cars across state lines could be a massive pain. He planned to use a combination of Ubers and rentals.)

He made a noise of annoyance as his neighbour, sporting stylish headphones, turned the volume of their music up, the pounding house music just as loud in James’s ears as it would be if it was playing through his _own_ headphones.

* * *

**BETH’S RESIDENCE**

**PASADENA**

* * *

‘You have excellent timing.’

Beth grinned at Mac as she pulled out the first of ten chains of ball bearings from the wrapped box he’d brought over. The ball bearings at the end of each chain had the Greek letter pi etched into them, to make their purpose clear.

He grinned back at her, something teasing in his eyes.

‘Are you making us pumpkin pie for Christmas?’

Beth narrowed her eyes at him, and jabbed him in the sternum with a finger.

‘Pumpkin pie is delicious, and thus should be an acceptable foodstuff all year round!’ Her eyes narrowed further teasingly. ‘No mocking, or no pie for you!’

_Beth has an irrational love for pie, pumpkin especially._

_…uh, pun unintended._

He held up his hands in supplication.

‘Not complaining or mocking!’ His wry smirk-smile widened. ‘Besides, that’d be cruel and unusual punishment.’

She laughed, her own teasing smile widening.

‘Don’t they teach you to resist that in Special Forces training?’

‘Not something as terrible as denial of pie!’

_Guess how Judith punishes Jack for the Jell-O Incident?_

* * *

**ONE AND A HALF MONTHS AGO**

**MACGYVER’S RESIDENCE**

**PASADENA**

* * *

Mac sighed as the YouTube video instructing one how to construct a potato car finished playing. He’d probably only taken in about 70% of it (which was low, for him), as his mind was elsewhere.

Three years ago, there’d been a school shooting at Columbia.

Three years ago, the glaciology PhD student that he’d been corresponding with for a little over a month, flirting and connecting and starting _something_ between them, had died saving her students.

He and Zoe had never even gotten to meet in person.

He swallowed, and instead of playing the video again, he reached out and grabbed a paperclip from the bowl that lived on his coffee table, shaping it into an ice-cream cone, and reminding himself to think about the good things.

One month of friendship well on its way to becoming something more, of intellectual debates and silly jokes and amusing and/or interesting stories.

One month of memories.

Bozer cooking breakfast for him that morning (waffles, of course), and Jack and Riley getting up bright and early to join them.

The evening’s plans (Skeeball, pizza and, Mac was sure, rocky-road ice-cream).

His front door opened, and a second later, he heard Beth’s voice.

( _That too_ , said a voice in his head.)

‘Hi Mac, Bozer, I made apple pie, but I really shouldn’t eat it all myself…’ She trailed off as she saw him sprawled out on the couch, expression becoming concerned. ‘Are you alright?’

Mac swallowed, and tossed his ice-cream-cone-shaped paperclip onto the coffee table, before glancing up at Beth, who absent-mindedly set down the apple pie she was holding on the coffee table and took a seat on the other end of the couch.

‘Do you remember the Columbia shooting, exactly three years ago?’

* * *

‘I’m so sorry, Mac.’ Beth’s eyes were gentle and sympathetic and sad when he finished his story. ‘I really want to give you a hug. Can I give you a hug?’

He gave a little smile and nodded, holding up his arms and shifting on the couch, so that they were closer together. She did the same, and patted his back soothingly until he let go of her.

_Oxytocin, commonly known as the ‘cuddle hormone’, is thought to be an anti-depressant, at least in animal models._

_I think most people would agree that that result likely translates to humans._

_Who doesn’t feel better after a hug?_

* * *

A couple of minutes later, Beth walked over from his kitchen, carrying two slices of apple pie on small plates, as well as a pair of forks.

(She knew his kitchen very well by now, since she was often at their parties and gatherings, both planned and impromptu, after all.)

She passed him one plate, and Mac grabbed a fork from her hand with a smile. He took a bite of pie as she sat back down, and his smile widened. He chewed, swallowed, and then indicated the pie with his fork.

‘Don’t tell Bozer, but this is the second-best apple pie I’ve ever had.’ Beth smiled and ducked her head a little at the praise, before he continued, knowing she’d be curious about the best. (Not so much for competition’s sake, but for curiosity’s.) ‘My mom’s is undisputedly the best, sorry.’ He paused. ‘She has a secret ingredient that she _still_ refuses to tell me.’

Beth tilted her head to the left a little as she finished swallowing her own mouthful of pie.

‘Surely we could work it out with sufficient, methodical experimentation?’

Mac chuckled, as he used his fork to slice off another bite of pie.

‘Boze and I have been trying to work it out for years. We even roped my dad into it…’ He paused, considering as he chewed. ‘Though, we’ve never been particularly _methodical_ …’

Beth pointed at him with her fork, as if to say, _well, that’s the ticket._

‘Next time you try, let me know? I’d be more than happy to help…’ Her smile turned sheepish. ‘…science and pie are two of my favourite things.’

* * *

**SOMEWHERE IN TEXAS**

**ON-ROUTE TO MISSION CITY**

* * *

James MacGyver finished paying for gas, and then turned around to walk back out to his car...only to see his rental car drive off.

Someone was stealing it.

He ran out of the gas station, but the thief had hit the accelerator, and was already too far away and moving too fast for him to do anything about it.

(The hoses from the tyre pumping station were definitely not long enough, unfortunately.)

He cursed, out-loud this time, not able to keep it inside.

(He knew he should have installed some kind of theft deterrent, a quick-and-dirty version of the one on his own car and Ellen’s, even if it led to him paying a fine on the rental when he returned it.)

(Figured. The one time he didn’t – remembering how much the seemingly-unnecessary-and-paranoid and very expensive act annoyed his wife – the car wound up getting stolen.)

He sighed, and walked back into the gas station to ask them to call him a cab.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did say that poor James was going to suffer, didn’t I? (I enjoyed making him suffer, even in a silly/absurd way, considering, you know, his canon actions.)
> 
> Tomorrow’s gift for Beth: Eleven Steampunk-ish Bobby Pins.


	11. Eleven Steampunk-ish Bobby Pins

**DECEMBER 24 th **

**SOMEWHERE IN ARIZONA**

**ON-ROUTE TO MISSION CITY**

* * *

His newest rental car (this time with an anti-theft system installed) made an ominous spluttering sound, then another.

James groaned and cursed again, having a nasty feeling as to what was responsible for the sound, and pulled over, just as the engine got out.

He climbed out of the car, slamming the door with a little too much force, and popped the hood to get a look at the engine.

It was ludicrously improbable for so many things to go wrong.

Ellen was going to find that _hilarious_ when he got home, once she got over being worried sick about him and consequently angry that he didn’t call.

James groaned again as he determined the engine’s problem.

‘I’m going to be sleeping in the guest room for a week…’

Odds were, he wasn’t going to get back to Mission City in time for their flight to LA, let alone before the clock ticked over to Christmas Day.

He was probably better off going straight to Angus’s place in LA, and even then, he might not make the party, honestly.

(The car needed serious repairs. He really, really should have insisted on looking under the hood at the rental place, but he’d been too caught up in the anti-theft system and on making it home ASAP.)

Unless…

An idea, or the start of one, crystallized out of the mass of thoughts in his head.

He could probably get a hundred miles, tops, out of the car, which should get him to the next town. He could catch a cab or hitchhike from there to the nearest car rental place…

* * *

**MACGYVER’S RESIDENCE**

**PASADENA**

* * *

Mac carefully placed a bobby pin with a flower made of scrap metal on it into a box, where it joined ten others, each sporting a flower on the end, made of scrap metal and/or cogs and/or old nuts.

He then put the lid on the festively-coloured box and tied an equally-festive ribbon around it.

He glanced at the time on the clock on his nightstand.

It was 5:37 pm.

Mac put the box down on his desk rather firmly, and then reached for his laptop, resolving to keep himself busy for the next hour or so.

(Beth had worked until 3 pm, and was now off until noon on the 26th, but she’d only gotten home at 3:30, and he wanted to make sure she got some time to rest and shower and eat before heading over to her place to give her her gift.)

* * *

**FOUR MONTHS AGO**

* * *

‘Mac? Bozer said I could find you in here…’

Mac put down the welding torch he was holding, turned it off and lifted his protective faceplate to smile at Beth as she stepped down into the garage. She smiled back at him, before her eyes were caught by what he was working on. It was an ornate necklace with a somewhat Victorian flair to it, made of old cogs and keys and bolts and nuts and bits of scrap metal. She raised her brows at him, impressed and also curious, asking.

‘Boze’s latest movie has a steampunk setting.’

She nodded as if that explained everything (which it did, if you knew him and Bozer as well as she did), before returning to looking at the necklace. He moved aside a little obligingly so that she could get a better look, which got him another, wider smile.

Beth studied the necklace intently for a while, in a way that made him feel rather smug.

When she’d looked her fill, she looked up at him again, a teasing look on her face.

‘I think you’ve missed your calling, Mac! You clearly should have been a jeweller.’ She pursed her lips and tilted her head to the side in mock-thought. ‘You know, it’s not too late.’ She poked him in the sternum. ‘I expect you to have started an Etsy shop and gone viral by the time I get back from my conference!’

* * *

**THE PRESENT**

* * *

Mac had only been watching YouTube videos for eight minutes when there was a knock on his front door.

Puzzled and running through possibilities in his mind, he hurried over to the front door and opened it, to reveal Beth standing on the other side, wearing a pretty blue tunic, fitted grey jeans and brown ankle boots, with her hair in an intricate French braid.

She was also holding a picnic basket and smiling with flushed cheeks.

‘Hi, Mac.’ She paused, blush darkening a little, but looked him in the eye nonetheless. ‘I was wondering if you’d like to have a picnic with me tonight?’

He grinned back, probably ridiculously, but he absolutely didn’t care.

_Sure, this throws a wrench in my plans, but since when was I one for plans anyway?_

_I’m an on-the-fly kind of guy. I’m adaptable._

_Besides, what do you do when your very attractive neighbour whom you like very, very much asks you out on a date?_

_Say no?_

_What am I, crazy?_

_Well, I probably am crazy, but you get the point…_

‘I’d love to.’ He paused. ‘Have you got a place in mind, or are you open to suggestions?’

Her smile shifted a little, growing fonder and more teasing at the same time.

‘You are full of good ideas, so I’m definitely open to your suggestions.’ She shrugged. ‘I’ve got the picnic sorted, you have a location. Are we taking your car or mine?’

That didn’t require consideration.

The place he had in mind, while only half an hour away from their homes, was going to be far easier to get to in his Jeep than her Yaris.

‘We’d better take mine. Meet you there in five?’

Beth nodded, her smile widening further, cheeks still a touch pink.

‘It’s a date.’

* * *

**A ROMANTIC PICNIC SPOT**

**NEAR-ISH PASADENA IN THE HOLLYWOOD HILLS**

* * *

Mac, sitting on Beth’s picnic blanket, could only watch a little stunned and impressed as she unpacked the picnic basket, which held a lot more than he thought it could.

(Beth _was_ very good at packing, after all.)

There were sandwiches (turkey, cucumber and mayo, and ham, cheese and tomato), savoury muffins that looked home-made, some cheese and crackers, fruit and snickerdoodles, also clearly home-made.

She’d also packed a large bottle of water, and another one of iced tea, as well as serviettes, plastic plates, cups and cutlery.

‘ _How_ did you find time to prepare all of this?’

Beth just smiled and raised a shoulder, before pouring him a glass of iced tea.

‘Well, I made the muffins a few days ago and froze them, I made the cookie dough two days ago and froze that, then baked them when I got home today, I cleaned the picnic basket and the blanket a few days ago as well…’ She cut herself off, lifting a shoulder again, a little awkwardly. ‘Essentially, with some careful forward planning and forethought.’

He shook his head, affectionate and more than a little impressed.

‘You’d have made a much better Boy Scout than me.’ He paused and gestured to her. ‘Uh, well, ignoring the obvious.’

Beth laughed at that, though she raised an eyebrow sceptically.

‘You always carry a Swiss Army knife. You’ve never met a problem you couldn’t solve using it, a couple of paperclips, some duct-tape and a stick of gum. You’re almost-unbelievably good-hearted, noble, guileless and generally wholesome. Sure, you aren’t one for rules or plans, but you must have been an excellent Boy Scout, Mac!’

He looked very, very sheepish, and rubbed the back of his neck.

‘Actually, I got kicked out of the Boy Scouts.’

Beth stared at him for a long moment, as if he’d told her that the moon was made of cheese and that he’d be taking her there for their second date to prove it.

‘How in the world did that happen?’ She continued, as if she was thinking out-loud as a realization hit her. ‘And how have I not heard about this until now?’

She punctuated that by leaning over and poking him in the chest.

Mac held his hands up in supplication.

‘Boze and I pinkie-promised _and_ spit-swore never to tell that story again.’ That put it up a level from the Football Stadium Incident. He fell silent, helping himself to a savoury muffin, which was delicious. Beth let him eat half the muffin before she narrowed her eyes at him and poked him again, reminding him that he hadn’t answered her other question. Mac gave a sheepish smirk, and then launched into it. ‘It all started when I decided I wanted a particular merit badge, and had a very particular idea as to how I was going to get it…’

* * *

‘…and _that_ is how I got kicked out of the Boy Scouts.’ Mac paused, his expression turning wry. ‘More than kicked out, actually. I’m banned from attending any and all Boy Scouts functions or events in any capacity.’

Beth stared at him for a couple of seconds, then blinked twice, and then burst into hysterical laughter, clapping a hand over her mouth.

He started chuckling too, mostly at her reaction, as her laughing fit went on and on. He started getting concerned that she was going to asphyxiate when she finally stopped. With her cheeks still pink with laughter and something very affectionate and teasing in her eyes, Beth leaned over to poke him in the sternum again.

‘You, Angus MacGyver, are _ridiculous_.’

He just smiled and shook his head just as fondly, passing her a cup of water, then, when he was sure she wasn’t going to choke, a cracker with some cheese on it.

* * *

**SOMEWHERE IN CALIFORNIA**

**ON-ROUTE TO MISSION CITY**

* * *

Downing the rest of the rather cold coffee left in the takeaway coffee cup in the cup-holder of the lime-green minivan he’d rented (it was the last car left in the lot, unfortunately), James drove as fast as was legal along the highway.

He turned up the volume on the radio, knowing that it’d help keep him alert.

(He was very good at going without sleep – he had many, many all-nighters working on some project or the other to prove it – but every little bit helped.)

He wound up humming along to the Christmas carol playing.

(Ellen was rubbing off on him. Unsurprising, after thirty years of marriage.)

_Run, run Rudolph, Santa's got to make it to town_ _. Santa make him hurry, tell him he can take the freeway down. Run, run Rudolph, reeling like a merry-go-round…_

* * *

**A ROMANTIC PICNIC SPOT**

**NEAR-ISH PASADENA IN THE HOLLYWOOD HILLS**

* * *

After they’d eaten their fill and re-packed the picnic basket, they sat close together on the blanket, Beth resting her head on his shoulder as they looked out over the spectacular view of LA in comfortable silence.

Beth spoke quietly without raising her head.

‘How did you find this spot?’

Mac smiled in a way that was full of loving memories, and a touch wistful, at the same time.

‘My grandfather’s house was up here in the Hills, not far from here. He used to bring me here when I was a kid.’ He paused, smile widening a little. ‘It was a special place for us.’

Beth raised her head a little bit so that she could look him in the eye, and reached out and squeezed his hand gently.

‘Thank you for sharing it with me.’

* * *

**JAMES AND ELLEN MACGYVER’S RESIDENCE**

**MISSION CITY**

* * *

Ellen bid farewell to the last of the neighbourhood kids who’d come over to admire and play in the Christmas wonderland in the front yard, then headed inside and started doing the dishes from dinner.

(It didn’t take long, since it was only her dishes.)

She glanced at the clock, admittedly more than a little concerned.

Jim should be back round about now, since he was driving from Dallas.

His lack of contact also bothered her.

Had something happened to him?

Then, she shook her head with a half-wry, half-fond smile, trying to tamp down on her worry.

Jim _would_ be home before midnight.

He’d promised her, and he knew how much Christmas meant to her, and he loved her very, very much, she knew.

(Even if he rarely said it in words.)

So, Jim would want to be home by midnight as much as she wanted him home for Christmas.

(Whether before or after midnight – and hence technically on Christmas Eve or not – she didn’t care, being far less pedantic than either her husband or her son.)

And when Jim (or Angus, for that matter) got it into his head to do something, absolutely nothing would stand in his way.

He’d be back.

Ellen changed into pyjama pants and one of Jim’s T-shirts (one that he’d gotten from a promotion at his favourite hardware store a few years ago), pulled on the robe he’d gotten her for her last birthday, and then went to her yarn stash and pulled out three skeins of a beautiful, soft, rich blue yarn that she’d been saving for something special, though she hadn’t known what it was until just then.

She grabbed the correctly-sized needles, and then went and sat down on the couch, where she had an excellent view of the front door.

She cast on, before starting to knit a lacy scarf that she had a strong feeling that Beth would very much appreciate as a gift one day, not _too_ far into the future, but far enough to make it not weird.

(Angus liked to keep his hands busy – and hence his head clear - with paperclips.)

(She preferred yarn.)

* * *

**BETH’S RESIDENCE**

**PASADENA**

* * *

Mac picked up the picnic basket from the trunk of his Jeep before Beth could even reach for it. She shook her head in fond exasperation, and tucked her hand into his free one as they walked up to her front steps.

Once inside her home, Mac gestured to the basket.

‘Where do you want it?’

Beth pointed at her kitchen.

‘In there, please and thank you, Mac.’ Her smile grew teasing as they walked over. ‘Did your grandfather teach you that you had to help a woman clean up after a date, if necessary?’

His face scrunched up a little in thought as he started unloading the picnic basket. While he was slightly distracted, Beth started helping, pulling out the half-empty bottles and stashing those in her fridge.

‘It’s, uh, a logical extension of Rule Number 9.’

He shot her a _look_ as she started packing up the leftovers as he started to load the dishwasher. Beth narrowed her eyes back at him and continued to insistently put leftovers in the fridge, then raised her brows at him.

‘Your grandfather gave you nine rules for dating?’

‘Fourteen, actually.’

That made her brows rise further as they continued cleaning up, working quickly.

When he was crouching down in front of her dishwasher to start it, Beth spoke, a little more than a hint of shyness in her voice.

‘Did your grandfather have any rules about kissing?’

He started the dishwasher, and spoke as he got up and turned around. Her cheeks were flushed pink.

‘Uh, Rule Number 3 was that a gentleman always kisses a lady goodnight, but never on the lips on a first date.’

Beth tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear, taking a half-step forward and looking up at him, her smile somehow sweet and shy and seductive at the same time.

‘But what if the lady wants you to?’

He tilted his head a little to the right and smirked.

‘Rule Number 1 is to always respect a lady’s wishes…’

Her smile widened, and he stepped closer, tucked two fingers under her chin to tilt her face up, then ducked his head to kiss her.

* * *

It was very, very rare that the mass of thoughts swirling around Mac’s mind at nearly all times actually stilled and disappeared.

This didn’t do it, but they grew quieter and slowed.

When they pulled away from each other, Beth smiled up at him, looking happy and content, like something had shifted a little and clicked into place.

(He felt much the same way.)

Then, she blinked twice and spoke.

‘You’re unreasonably good at an unreasonably large number of things. Are you secretly an alien or a superhuman?’ Then, she clapped a hand over her mouth, cheeks reddening. ‘That was _not_ supposed to be out-loud…’

He chuckled, and pressed a quick kiss to her forehead, before raising his hands.

‘I swear I’m an ordinary _Homo sapiens_. Please don’t dissect me!’

Beth giggled and shook her head in amusement, then smiled softly up at him.

‘You are far from ordinary.’ She paused, smile growing more wry and teasing. ‘But there will be no dissecting of any kind, I promise. It would be unethical on many levels, and besides, I’m very fond of you in your current, _living_ state.’

A not-so-little voice in Mac’s head pointed out that he would not mind her conducting a thorough physical examination on him, to test her hypothesis.

He told that voice to shut up immediately, but it refused to listen.

Especially since Beth went up on her toes and braced her hands on his shoulders so that she could kiss him again.

* * *

When they broke apart again, he followed her so that he could rest his forehead against hers for a moment, making her smile a little wider and softer.

When he lifted his head again, she spoke, soft and gentle and fond and very happy.

‘Good night, Mac.’

His smile mirrored hers.

‘Night, Beth.’

And with that and a probably-awkward wave (not that he cared), he walked out her front door and back to his place.

Beth, meanwhile, inspected her kitchen to ensure that everything was in its proper place, and found a small, festively-wrapped box by the dishwasher.

Smile widening even further, and shaking her head with fond exasperation, she opened it.

* * *

**JAMES AND ELLEN MACGYVER’S RESIDENCE**

**MISSION CITY**

* * *

James MacGyver opened the front door, to find Ellen sitting on the couch, knitting and waiting up for him.

She smiled at him, greatly relieved, and he smiled back, soft and fond and more than a touch guilty.

(Sometimes, he really didn’t think he deserved her, or what she’d do for him.)

(He remembered far too many late nights in the lab, including when she was heavily pregnant with Angus, or missing parent-teacher interviews because he had important meetings on the other side of the country he couldn’t miss, or calling her at 6 pm to tell her that he wasn’t going to be home for dinner, as something had come up.)

Ellen put down her knitting, got up and walked over to him, standing close and cupping his face in her hands.

He couldn’t help but lean into her touch, closing his eyes for a moment, before opening them again to meet her vivid blue ones, just as the clock chimed midnight.

‘Merry Christmas, Ellen.’

Her smile widened, and she closed the distance between them and kissed him.

When they broke apart, she raised an eyebrow at him.

‘Now, Jim, _what happened_?’

Her tone made it clear that she wanted the full story, and the truth, and nothing but the truth.

‘A series of highly improbable and unfortunate events.’ Her brow rose further, and he sighed. ‘Seconds after I hung up, someone bumped into me, which led to my phone being run over by a TSA agent…’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I stole Jack’s lime-green minivan and gave it to James. Mostly because it was funny and I can imagine James being all like ‘this is so undignified’ while driving it. He’s listening to _Run, Run, Rudolph_ literally because I came up with the Ellen/James plotline while watching a TV commercial for a local supermarket set to that song. (My brain is weird. Let’s just leave it at that.) 
> 
> And yes, Mac and Beth finally got somewhere, and Mac’s plan did not go to plan (as they never do – especially Mac’s)! I think this is the first time in any of my fics that Beth has asked Mac out, and I’m pretty happy with how she wound up doing it. Hope you guys are too! 
> 
> Tomorrow’s gift for Beth: Twelve Golden Rings.
> 
> (As Doofenschmirtz says, ‘You know, I had to sing it that way at least once. It’s tradition!’)


	12. Twelve Golden Rings

**DECEMBER 25 th **

**THE PHOENIX FOUNDATION**

**LA**

* * *

Mac nodded in satisfaction as he put the finishing touches on the ‘Santa cave’ that he’d built in the corner of The Phoenix Foundation’s shelter and soup kitchen.

(It was a philanthropic organization that he and his friends all volunteered for, run by Patricia Thornton, an heiress who also happened to be the District Attorney who’d gotten Riley out of jail.)

Bozer, already dressed in a Rudolph costume he’d lovingly sewn, tossed him his own costume in a plastic bag, looking pointedly at him, and Mac just nodded obediently, heading for the bathrooms to change.

He passed the huge set-up of trestle tables as he did, with the places being set by a whole army of volunteers in preparation for a Christmas feast prepared by another army of volunteers.

Beth and Jill, both dressed as elves, courtesy of Bozer, smiled and waved at him as he passed. Cage, Bozer’s boss Matty, and her husband Ethan, all sporting Santa hats, all smiled, as did Thornton.

(She had a reputation, of being cold and with a heart of stone. She was an unforgiving opponent in the courtroom, and did seem to be cool and distant on the surface.)

(But anyone who saw her and what she did every Christmas – not to mention every other day of the year, but Christmas was always just that little bit more special – couldn’t possibly believe that that was the case.)

* * *

Smiling, Mac, dressed as an elf (there were few causes he’d wear tights for; this was one of them), led the little boy and his even younger sister into Santa’s cave, introducing them to ‘Santa’ and ‘Mrs Claus’, who were really Jack and Diane wearing costumes, again made by Bozer.

Still, neither of the kids noticed or seemed to care, lost in wonderment and childish joy and _belief_ as they sat on either side of Jack and told him their Christmas wishes.

The children’s mother, a tired-looking woman who looked too old and careworn for her age, eyes and shoulders too heavy with burdens, smiled just as brightly as her children, pulling out a phone several years old to take some photos.

Mac leaned over, closer to her, but being careful not to be so close as to be threatening.

‘Would you like me to take some photos of all of you?’

The woman smiled gratefully, and passed him her phone, heading up towards her children and Jack, who were still engrossed in excited conversation. Diane smiled at her in greeting, and leaned over to talk to her quietly, urging her to come closer.

Mac smiled and raised the phone.

* * *

After the photos, he ushered the two children and their mother out as Riley, also dressed up as an elf, brought another little family in.

The kids were greeted enthusiastically at a set point by Bozer, running over with two wrapped presents under his arms.

‘Special delivery, coming through!’ He came to a stop in front of the two kids, crouching down. ‘You’re Nate and Nessa, right?’ The little kids nodded at ‘Rudolph’, and Bozer grinned. ‘My boss ordered me to get these to you, special delivery!’

He held out one present to each kid, which they took eagerly.

Meanwhile, Beth and Jill came over, the brunette woman carrying a series of shoe boxes in a stack so high that she could hardly see over it, the blonde bearing a large hamper full of non-perishable foods, a few Christmas treats and Wal-Mart vouchers.

Jill passed Nate and Nessa’s mother the hamper, and for a moment, the woman looked like she might cry, before nodding and smiling gratefully.

* * *

A few minutes later, Nate and Nessa’s mother actually did start tearing up, as Nessa twirled around excitedly, sporting brand-new _Frozen_ sneakers and singing _Let It Go_ with Nate and Bozer.

From somewhere in her costume, Beth pulled out a packet of tissues and offered one to the woman.

* * *

**MACGYVER’S RESIDENCE**

**PASADENA**

* * *

Helping a somewhat-stressed Bozer out in the kitchen, Riley bumped him with her hip to nudge him out of the way as she carried the huge bowl of peeled potatoes over to the stove, dumping them into a pot of water to par-boil.

(Thankfully, Beth lived next door and was a really good cook, so was preparing some of the Christmas dishes in her own kitchen.)

(They’d never had so many over for Christmas before, with Jack, Riley, Diane, Beth, Jill, Cage, Mac’s parents and Penny and her boyfriend of just over six months, Aaron, coming to Mac and Bozer’s.)

(Mac and Bozer had initially strongly disliked Aaron, an accountant of Canadian origin, but had warmed up to him.)

* * *

Bozer’s phone made a loud chiming sound, and he immediately almost-dropped the dish of mac’n’cheese he was holding, managing to catch himself and set it down on the counter.

‘Pastrami!’

It was time to put the pastrami into the grill.

He had a slightly wild-eyed and panicked look about him, so Riley turned off the stove and took the gravy she was watching off the stove. She went over to Bozer and put her hands on his shoulders.

‘Bozer, calm down.’ She paused and waited for him to take several deep breaths. ‘You and your family have been making Christmas pastrami every year since 1993.’ Bozer told the very long and convoluted story every single Christmas, whether anyone wanted to hear it again or not. ‘It’s going to be delicious, just like it always is.’ Bozer smiled and preened a little at that, and Riley rolled her eyes fondly, letting go of his shoulders, before her expression grew more wry as she turned back to the gravy. ‘Besides, didn’t Mac fix that whole catching-fire thing?’

‘Uh, he thinks so?’ Bozer didn’t sound supremely convinced. Riley didn’t blame him. Mac made _something_ catch fire, either at home or at work, once a week on average. ‘Jack and your mom volunteered to watch the grill for me.’

Mac’s modified grill could cook a side of pastrami perfectly in half an hour (instead of half a day), but one also had to be on hand to extinguish any fires.

* * *

**LAX**

**LA**

* * *

Mac grinned and hurried over to hug his mom, then his dad, in the arrivals hall of LAX.

‘Merry Christmas, Mom, Dad.’

They smiled back at him, and his mother looked him up and down, a knowing sparkle in her eyes.

(He was dressed better than usual, in slacks and a white shirt with a grey sweater and a black coat.)

With a little smile (his mother _always_ knew), Mac took his parents’ bags and started to lead them to his car, walking a little faster than usual.

His dad raised an eyebrow as they walked.

‘You’re in a hurry, Angus.’

Mac resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He could tell by the tone of his dad’s voice that he was about to say something boundary-crossing and probably also didactic (and not in the nice, give-you-a-little-guidance-to-the-answer way that his mother – a teacher and a strong believer in lifelong learning – would use, but in an almost condescending way).

However, Ellen just shot her husband a _look,_ and leaned over and whispered in his ear.

‘Remember what I said, Jim.’

James changed tack, and started talking about a paper in his and Angus’s favourite engineering journal he’d read the week before.

Soon, he and Angus were completely engrossed in an adorably-excited discussion of said paper.

Ellen smiled, and slipped her arm through her husband’s as they walked, occasionally chipping in to the conversation.

* * *

**MACGYVER’S RESIDENCE**

**PASADENA**

* * *

Jack caught sight of Penny Parker, grinning mischievously while holding the controls for the mistletoe drone that she’d insisted Mac build, and looked up, to find the mistletoe drone hovering over him and Diane.

Diane looked up as he did, and smiled, knowing and affectionate, before leaning over to kiss him.

It was chaste and gentle, but there was the promise of more underneath all of that.

Jack smiled too, tucking his arm around her waist to hold her close for a moment or two when they broke apart.

* * *

Jack smirked as he walked up to James and Mac, who were standing on one side of the deck, drinking beer and talking about something that Jack didn’t understand while watching Beth and Ellen chat and laugh on the other side of the deck, clearly getting along like a house on fire.

He pointed at the women with his own beer.

‘You two are in so much trouble.’ He glanced between the MacGyvers, who had fallen silent and were just watching as Beth and Ellen giggled, almost like schoolgirls, with identical besotted smiles on their faces, before snorting. ‘And you’re going to love every minute of it.’

* * *

Bozer’s eyes widened as the mistletoe drone, courtesy of a slightly-tipsy Penny, whirled over him and Riley as they stood in the hallway.

He held up his hands.

‘We absolutely don’t have to-‘

Riley cut him off by leaning in and kissing him on the cheek, right near the corner of his mouth, with uncharacteristic sweetness and a touch (just a touch) of shy.

Bozer blinked several times, before smiling, soft and sweet and slow and hopeful, an expression Riley mirrored.

* * *

**DIANE’S RESIDENCE**

**LA**

* * *

That night, Diane held up the bottle of egg-nog that Bozer had given them when Jack parked his Shelby Cobra outside her building.

‘Come up and share some egg-nog with me?’ There was no innuendo there; it was an offer for actual egg-nog, and presumably conversation. Her smile twisted a little. ‘And maybe enjoy some more mistletoe?’

There was definitely innuendo in there.

Jack swallowed, looking directly into her eyes.

‘Thought we were taking it slow.’

Diane lifted a shoulder, a touch of mischief in her smile.

‘It’s Christmas.’

Jack grinned in a way that was nearly a smirk.

‘Can’t argue with that.’

He got out, walked around and opened the door for her, which got him a really nice kiss on the cheek, and they walked up to her apartment, fingers tangled together.

* * *

**BETH’S RESIDENCE**

**PASADENA**

* * *

Mac and Beth reached her doorstep and simply stood there, facing one another, for a moment, neither wanting to say goodnight just yet.

In her porch light, the hair pins he’d given her the day before glittered slightly in her hair, which she’d braided into an intricate crown around her head.

His fingers itched to disassemble her complicated hairstyle, partly because he wanted his hands in her hair, and partly because he really wanted to work out how it was constructed.

Instead, he toyed with the twelve interlinked golden rings around her waist, where her green-and-white striped long-sleeved shirt met her green Christmas skirt, which had a pattern of holly and candy canes printed on it and was _adorable._

(The belt was modifiable in length, so could become a necklace or even a bracelet, just by removing some of the rings.)

Beth smiled up at him, and gestured at her new belt/necklace/bracelets.

‘I never thanked you for all the gifts.’ He gave a shake of his head, but she narrowed her eyes at him briefly, before her expression softened again and she continued. ‘Thank you very much, Mac. It was the grandest, sweetest and most thoughtful romantic gesture I’ve ever received.’

The very first thing that went through his mind was that he was going to top it next year, then top that the year after, and so and so forth.

(He _had_ to now.)

(It was a _challenge,_ and he could never resist a challenge.)

It must have shown on his face, because Beth shook her head with fond exasperation and continued.

‘ _Please_ don’t take that as a challenge. Even you won’t be able to continue to top yourself year after year, given enough years…’

Her cheeks pinked, and she trailed off. Mac smiled a little wider, and cupped her cheek with a hand. She leaned into the touch, and he ducked his head to kiss her.

She went up on her toes and met him halfway.

_I don’t need the excuse of a poisonous, parasitic weed to kiss her._

_Never will._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night! Yes, mistletoe is a poisonous parasitic weed. (It was also apparently a symbol of friendship in Norse mythology, which is probably why the tradition of kissing under it started?) 
> 
> In my own words - Merry Christmas and/or happy holidays to everyone! I hope you’ve enjoyed this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it, even if it was really just a giant ball of fluff!
> 
> There is an epilogue for this story to come, which I’ll put up tomorrow.


	13. Epilogue

**ONE YEAR LATER**

**CHRISTMAS DAY**

**MACGYVER’S RESIDENCE**

**PASADENA**

* * *

Mac, Jack, Jim, Aaron, Beth’s dad Michael and Jill’s boyfriend Alex (a med-evac chopper pilot from Beth’s hospital) all sat around the fire-pit, drinking beer, eating snacks and ostensibly keeping an eye on the pastrami.

Inside, Beth, Diane, Ellen, Penny, Beth’s mom Caitlyn and Jill all chatted and laughed as they sat in the living room, sipping their own drinks and enjoying snacks, the women who weren’t already friends clearly becoming so quickly.

Outside, the men all exchanged a glance.

They were all screwed.

It was going to be great.

* * *

Meanwhile, Cage was whipping cream to put on the meringue base on a platter in front of her, while Bozer and Riley chopped tropical fruits.

She’d brought over a pavlova, a traditional Australian Christmas dessert.

(Bozer had bowed to the inevitable and asked everyone to bring food or drinks; Christmas was far too big now for him to cater for all of them, or even for him to personally handpick the cooks in the family who could meet his standards to help out.)

Bozer looked sceptical about it, but Cage knew he’d be won over.

No lover of food could say no to a pav.

* * *

At the same time, with everyone else busy and distracted, Ethan Reigns snuck over to the speakers, intending to put on his Christmas disco playlist, undetected by anyone.

There was a throat-clearing behind him just as he reached for Bozer’s phone to switch it for his.

A very familiar throat-clearing.

He amended his earlier thoughts.

He’d been undetected by everyone except one person.

He turned around to find his wife, her arms crossed and quirking an eyebrow at him.

‘Trust me, you don’t want to mess with Bozer’s Christmas playlist.’

Ethan just smiled in a way that made him look much younger and nothing like the very dangerous man he was, swapping over the music anyway.

‘You’ll save me.’

Matty shook her head with a smile.

(She would.)

* * *

**TWO YEARS LATER**

**CHRISTMAS DAY**

**MACGYVER’S RESIDENCE**

**PASADENA**

* * *

Riley nudged Bozer with her hip as she carried the chopped and washed potatoes over to the stove for par-boiling.

He grinned as he took out the mac’n’cheese, setting it onto the counter, just as his phone chimed with the pastrami alert.

(It said ‘it’s pastrami time!’ in his voice, courtesy of a little bit of clever programming by his girlfriend.)

Bozer went to the fridge and took out two large sides of meat (necessary, as the family kept expanding – Patricia Thornton was expected for Christmas this year, and Penny was eating for three, since she was pregnant with twins). He rubbed his hands together, a tiny bit nervous, and Riley, picking up on it, paused her mis-en-place for the sauce, going over to rub Bozer’s back for a moment and peck his cheek, though not before punching him lightly in the arm.

(Some things never changed, even if their relationship had changed.)

‘It’s gonna be delicious, Boze.’ She socked him in the arm again, voice and expression growing teasing. ‘Just don’t distract everyone from it with a story they all know…’

* * *

**THREE YEARS LATER**

**CHRISTMAS EVE**

**MAC AND BETH’S NEW RESIDENCE**

**PASADENA**

* * *

After a long day of work, and immensely grateful that she had that night and the next day, plus most of the day after that, off, Beth smiled as she pulled up to the mid-century-modern fixer-upper. She and Mac had purchased the three-bed, two-bath house five months ago, and had been renovating it ever since.

All the structural changes were done, as was the flooring. The kitchen had been re-done, as had the master bath.

(They’d been done for nearly two months now, which was how long they’d been living in the house.)

Since they’d moved in, Mac had built a new back deck, complete with an even nicer fire-pit than his old place, and her pear tree had been planted in a corner of the backyard.

They had a bit of painting left to do, and the guest bath still needed tile, but otherwise, it was done.

And precisely according to her schedule, too.

Beth opened the front door, which triggered a bouncy ball to fall from the ceiling, bounce on the floor, and land on one side of a set of scales.

The shift in weight pulled a string, which led to a spring being pulled back, then, the spring released to launch another ball along a cut-in-half PVC pipe.

The ball hit an old record player, which started playing, which made the mechanical partridge-scarecrow start to flap its wings and light up, triggering the launch of another ball.

Beth smiled, broad and soft and fond and excited, as she walked along the corridor.

* * *

In the living room, a bocce ball punched through the piece of paper held up and taut using her steampunk-ish bobby pins, before settling on a plate hanging from her golden ring chain belt, the weight pulling down a projector screen.

Beth watched as photos and the occasional video from the last three years started playing, smile widening as she was reminded of many, many lovely memories.

* * *

When the photos and videos stopped playing, the projector screen retracted, revealing a gumball machine filled with ping-pong balls. The balls flew around for a few seconds, before a small black velvet box was launched out of the top and flew over her head.

Beth spun around to see it land in the right hand of her boyfriend, who was down on one knee, having used the skills acquired from his years as a Delta to sneak up on her without her noticing.

He smiled at her, looking nervous for no good reason, and popped the box open.

‘Beth, I love you so, so much, and I want to spend the rest of our lives in mutual weirdness together.’ He smiled wider, as she felt herself start to tear up. Apparently, she was going to be one of those women who cried when they got engaged. ‘So, will you marry me?’

She smiled and nodded.

‘Yes, of course, Mac!’

She wiped her eyes, then reached out to pull him to his feet. Mac slipped the ring on her left ring finger, and she went up on her toes to kiss him without even really looking at it.

* * *

A couple of minutes later, Beth finally pulled away from him more than a couple of inches.

_We just got engaged. I think that’s a reasonable and expected use of the two minutes immediately after your engagement._

She glanced down at the ring and smiled a little wider.

(It was simple and not ostentatious or overly expensive, with a twist band, the centrepiece diamond small, but perfectly proportioned to the band. She knew that that, along with the tiny diamonds that studded one of the band’s strands, would be lab-grown. It was also sturdily constructed, so would hold up to being transferred constantly from a chain around her neck for when she was at work to her finger when she was off-duty.)

Mac just handed her the box, lifting up the ring holder at the bottom, to reveal a sterling-silver chain inside, long enough to be tucked under her scrubs, thick enough to be sturdy and thin enough to not be too heavy.

That made her smile widen even further.

Then, Beth glanced around them, at his Christmas-themed romantic-proposal-spaghetti-machine, looking very impressed, eyes catching eventually on the gumball machine.

‘How long did you spend calibrating the ring-throwing mechanism and/or practicing catching it?’

Mac smirked sheepishly.

‘Too long.’

‘I guess this means the bathroom remains untiled?’

According to her renovation schedule, Mac was supposed to have spent the day tiling the guest bath.

‘Uh…yeah.’ He paused before continuing, sounding very reluctant. ‘Would you like me to go tile it now?’

Beth shook her head immediately, snorting and swatting him lightly in the chest.

‘Of course not!’ She waved a hand. ‘I will re-do the schedule…’ She paused, tilting her head to the left as she thought. ‘There’s no reason why the guest bath can’t wait until the new year, we’re not hosting Christmas, after all…’

Mac grinned in a way that was nearly a smirk.

‘Sounds like a plan.’ He literally swept Beth off her feet, picking her up bridal-style, ignoring the _look_ she shot him. (She really wasn’t heavy, being so small; he bench-pressed ten pounds more than she weighed – as many people had learned over the years, despite being lean, he was much stronger than he looked.) ‘Now that our schedule is clear…’

In answer, she just shook her head fondly, then shifted her head to kiss him in a way that was half-tender and half-heated.

* * *

**FOUR YEARS LATER**

**CHRISTMAS DAY**

**JACK AND DIANE’S RESIDENCE**

* * *

Jack woke up on Christmas morning feeling just as excited and happy as a kid. He rolled over in bed, and Diane smiled sleepily at him, shaking her head affectionately at the look on his face.

Jack just reached out and took her left hand, running his thumb over the diamond ring that now sat there.

Last night, Diane had agreed to marry him.

He hadn’t known if she’d ever want to marry again, and he would have been happy simply spending the rest of their lives together without that piece of paper, but he was also really, really glad and really, really excited that she was willing to get that piece of paper with him, make that declaration to the world.

* * *

_He wasn’t even sure how he got those words out, but they came quite easily, in the end, despite his nerves._

_Diane crouched down so that their eyes were at the same level, and reached out and took his hand._

_‘After Elwood and I divorced, I told myself I would only marry again if I found the right man.’ Diane smiled, leaning forward so that her face was only a couple of inches from his. ‘I found him, again.’ Her smile widened. ‘Yes, Jack Wyatt Dalton, I’ll marry you.’_

* * *

**FIVE YEARS LATER**

**MID-NOVEMBER**

**JAMES AND ELLEN MACGYVER’S RESIDENCE**

**MISSION CITY**

* * *

Ellen sat on the couch, knitting an adorable baby hat for her grandson-to-be.

(It was navy-blue with a pattern of grey wrenches on it.)

James walked into the living room from his office, pocketing his phone, a smile on his face, looking rather expectant.

Ellen raised an eyebrow at him, just as he expected.

‘It’s been confirmed. Someone else can attend the East Coast meetings.’

Ellen looked _very_ surprised. He’d kept it a secret from her until he was sure it was possible, not wanting to disappoint her and wanting to surprise her, too.

(In their thirty-eight years together, he’d been scheduled for East Coast meetings just before Christmas for twenty-three of them. He had never, ever arranged for someone else to go in his stead, as they were _important_ and no-one else could present their ideas and argue for funding as well as he could, as no one else understood them as well as he did.)

‘ _Jim_ …’

There was so much emotion in that, he couldn’t place it all.

After a moment of them just looking at each other, he smiled wryly and shrugged.

‘If we don’t go down to LA early and provide a buffer against Angus, we’re only going to get the one grandchild.’

Beth was thirty-five weeks pregnant with the newest MacGyver. Angus was doting, attentive and protective, to the degree that he was driving Beth insane.

It was bringing out guilt in Jim, guilt over too many late nights spent in the lab when his own wife was pregnant, all those years ago.

Ellen heard that tiny thread of guilt in his voice (she always did; she seemed to be able to better read and understand his emotions than he could), and walked over and wrapped her arms around his waist, tucking her head over his shoulder to kiss his cheek in a reminder of her forgiveness.

‘I’ll book us flights.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And they all lived happily ever after. That’s all that needs to be said! 
> 
> At the moment, I don’t really have anything completed that I’m happy to share. There’s a crack!fic that I’ve written, but there’s something about it that bothers me, but I can’t put my finger on it, so it’s not going up until I’ve worked out what it is and fixed it!
> 
> I’m currently, however, about 11,000 words deep into another one of my _MacGyver_ fairytales. I hope to have it finished within a month, at which point it will start posting. I have a sneaking suspicion that this is going to be a very, very long one…
> 
> The working title is _Accidental Happily Ever After_ , and it’s a retelling of _The Frog Prince/The Princess and the Frog_. Below is my working summary:
> 
> The Knight Sir Jack Dalton, the Engineer Angus MacGyver and his childhood best friend Wilt Bozer save the Kingdom of Phoenix from the evil wizard Murdoc, but pay a price in the form of a furry little problem. However, this curse might be a blessing in disguise, giving Mac a chance at a happy ending at last, Jack a second chance, and Bozer a chance to grow.
> 
> Hint: this fic literally started with the idea of Mac-is-a- _literal_ -Golden-Retriever.

**Author's Note:**

> Did you guys enjoy that? Do you think I did a decent job adapting canon backstories to this AU? There’ll definitely be more threads from canon coming into this universe; those who are familiar with my works probably know that I really like the idea of the butterfly effect and universes being different, yet also similar. 
> 
> See you guys in about 36 hours! 
> 
> Tomorrow’s gift for Beth: Two Modified Toasters.


End file.
